Harry & the Pirate VI: Blood and Treasure
by geekmama
Summary: Ten years after the end of Caribbean Quests, Jack and Harry cut short their East Indian 'Voyage of Trade and Exploration' to sail back to England on family business that will change their lives.
1. Farewell to Singaraja

Seven years ago today I posted the first seventeen chapters of Harry & the Pirate I. To commemorate that day, and to finish up Jack and Harry's story, here is Harry & the Pirate VI: Blood and Treasure, which I'll be posting one chapter a day for the next twenty days. Many thanks to Hereswith for beta reading, editing, and encouragement.

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**Chapter One: **_**Farewell to Singaraja**_

Tom Sparrow negotiated the wide streets of Singaraja with a seemingly carefree step, affably returning the nods and smiles and occasional bows of the townsfolk, a gentle and beautiful people. Tom would miss them, for they'd grown to be his friends. They'd also grown accustomed to the fierce splendor of the _Black Pearl_, anchored fore and aft in their jewel of a harbor these many weeks, and to her pirate crew, as well.

Pirates, but not like the vicious dogs the Pearls had run across a number of times in voyaging about the East Indies. Officially, this wasn't a piratical venture at all, but his parents' Voyage of Trade and Exploration, planned during the early years of Tom's life, years in which his father, Captain Jack Sparrow, had sailed under an English Letter of Marque. It had been mere chance that opportunities of a more illicit nature had occasionally come their way. But Jack Sparrow was a pirate _and_ a good man, and the presence of Tom's elegant little mother, Lady Harry, and his sister, Daisy – now a lively ten-year-old – had lent a civilizing influence, so the _Black Pearl_ and her people had acted as a benevolent force, whenever that had been possible, while making a mint of money into the bargain.

The Sparrows would return to western waters rich enough to buy an abbey, as the saying went. But even more valuable to Tom was the knowledge he'd gained in these last five years abroad. He had experienced a great deal in those years, from the steady, day to day running of the ship as she made her way around the globe, to wonders so singular that he'd never have believed them true if he'd not seen them with his own eyes. The fantastically varied lands and people, the adventures both happy and hair-raising: they'd just have been stories, like those in some dusty old book, if he hadn't come along on his parents' adventure.

He'd been fourteen years old when his father had recalled him from his apprenticeship under Michael Owens, who'd been made captain of the _Zephyr_, a neat little sixteen-gun brig the _Pearl_ had captured from the Spanish about a year after Daisy had been born. Tom and his father had been having an uncomfortable time of it—_growing pains_, Gibbs had said—so Tom had been exiled from the _Pearl_ for a couple of years, to study seamanship under another master, albeit one who'd always been Tom's friend. Michael hadn't played favorites, yet Tom had done well under his command, even as he'd come to a better understanding of what he'd had and lost on the _Pearl_.

He and his father had met infrequently during those years, but they'd gotten on better, and Tom never doubted that he'd be back on the _Pearl_ eventually. And sure enough, when Daisy turned five, and the conflict with the Spanish was at a low ebb, his parents had at last announced they would leave St. Claire, appointing Captain Owens and his wife Suzanna nominal guardians of the island – the Owens's were the parents of three by that time, twin girls and a boy, all under four years of age, and neither had any wish to leave the Caribbean just then – though Rachel, as always, was the true steward of Mother's property. The _Black Pearl_ would set sail on a voyage around the world, and Tom Sparrow would sail with her.

Even at fourteen, Tom had had enough wisdom to appreciate the opportunity he was being given. He'd done his best to absorb the lessons gleaned from observation and experience, and had been fairly attentive to the more formal schooling his father and mother had insisted upon. Now, at nineteen, Tom knew himself to be well versed in most aspects of sailing, including the complicated mathematics required in modern navigation; was skilled enough (and ruthless enough) to be of use in an action, with weaponry that ranged from pistol to blade to sheer cunning and, on occasion, swift flight; was capable of emulating the ways of a gentleman (and, conversely, the ways of a blackguard, at need); and, he hoped, had the empathy and courage it took to be a good man, just like his father.

And now he would be put to the test. He'd left the Caribbean a boy, but he would return a man.

But first he had to fetch his mother and sister.

He turned down the palm-shaded pathway that led to the splendid gold and stone residence of the ruler of this island nation. Tom's mother and sister had run across a group of the king's consorts and princesses on their second day in Singaraja, when they'd all been browsing the local market, and the ladies had taken an instant liking to each other, which ultimately had greased the wheels of the Pearls' trade negotiations.

Mother had often been invited to visit the palace, to bathe in the privacy of the ladies' garden, or to take tea with them, and Daisy had been allowed regular access to play and study with her special friend, the Crown Princess Surya, and Surya's plentiful royal siblings (there were about three dozen children of varying ages, from what Tom could make out – the king had an astonishing number of wives and concubines and took his marital obligations very seriously – Tom's father said it made him tired just thinking about it). Daisy had learned a little of everything in the last couple of months: local history and a smattering of the language; some cooking and the care of babies; music, and an unusual and graceful form of dance. Today it was dancing: the princesses and their friends were practicing a piece for the spring festival, to be held the day after tomorrow, and Daisy was all agog to have been invited to be counted among the performers.

Tom's mother had gone to the palace with her daughter that morning, to watch the little girls rehearse and to visit with the other fond matrons. It was nearly noon now, and Tom hoped they were almost finished. The news that his father had received – a letter from English lawyers that had taken months to find its way from ship to ship and port to port – was too significant to them all to wait.

The guards nodded to Tom as he passed through the open archway, and he met his friend, Wayan, oldest of the princes, almost immediately.

"Sparrow, my friend, do you come for your ladies? The little ones are still practicing in the Great Hall."

"My father sent me," Tom replied. "Exciting times, Wayan. There's been a letter delivered, from England."

Wayan's face fell. "You will leave us soon, then?"

"I believe so. We'd have to be on our way in any case, but it may be that we'll be heading west, to England, and then home to the Caribbean."

"How I wish I could go with you and see these strange places of which you speak," Wayan said with a sigh, as he led the way along the path that crossed the wide, gorgeously planted inner courtyard. "But alas! I must stay and tend to my duties, and become a great king –may the day be long delayed, for I honor my father."

"It's a hard fate, Wayan. I don't envy you – except for the palace, of course, and the flock of beauties you'll have at your beck and call."

Wayan grinned. "These things do ease the weight of my burden somewhat. But listen, do you hear? There is still music coming from the Great Hall. If we are very quiet, perhaps we can spy upon the dancers, among whom are, no doubt, a few of my future flock."

They slipped inside and stood by the doors of the enormous and wonderfully ornate hall, watching the troop of dancers with delight. There were nearly forty young girls, each dressed in the traditional costume: a slim, violet and gold patterned ankle-length skirt, topped by a wide band of green-edged red silk that left slim shoulders and arms bare. A flamelike headdress of shining gold, a wide gold collar, and gold bracelets completed the ensemble.

Daisy was in the front row, near Princess Surya. Tom noted with pride that his sister had done well in picking up the nuances of the stately yet sensual dance. She might almost have been a princess herself, with her dark hair and great eyes, and her skin that was now turned a pale gold – she and Mother had both spent more time basking in the sunny women's garden these last weeks than was quite proper for aristocratic ladies, but no doubt their complexions would fade again to a more conventional hue during the coming months, before they reached England.

Tom's little sister was growing up. She would be taller than Mother, soon, just as he'd grown to surpass his father's height. And there were other changes: a slight curve of hip (if not yet of breast) that hadn't been there a year ago, and an occasional gravity of thought that sometimes contrasted oddly with her usual liveliness. With such parents, beauty was a given, but Marguerite Elizabeth Sparrow was a charming creature in ways that even her brother couldn't fail to acknowledge.

She saw him as soon as the dance stopped. "Tom!" she exclaimed, and she ran across the hall to him, laughing, for a number of the other girls were following her, all delighted squeals and scolds that they should have been seen by Men before the appointed time. They gathered around like a small tide of flowers, putting their hands together and bowing quite formally, and he and Wayan returned the favor. But Daisy was the only one to put out her hands for him to take. "Did you see us dancing, Tom? How long have you been standing here?"

"Just a few minutes," Tom said, giving the little hands a brief squeeze. "Where's Mother? Thought she'd be watching you."

"She was, but then she and the other women went to visit the youngest of the wives, who is –" Daisy leaned in close and whispered the rest. "—_having a baby!_"

"Oh!" said Tom, lifting his brows.

But Wayan said, "I'll go fetch your mother, Tom. My father's lady will have more help than she needs—or probably wants."

A few of the girls went with Wayan, but most of them stayed in the hall with Tom, smiling shyly (or not so shyly), making eyes, and, in a few cases, trying to converse, though everyone agreed he should not be there at all, foreign devil that he was, and would he not attend the Spring Festival where he could see the whole dance, they were sure to perform most excellently with the eyes of such a handsome man upon them. Tom grinned, and assured them that he and most of the Pearls would be there, including his father.

"The great pirate captain!" said Princess Surya, eyes sparkling and a blush rising. "Ah! The stories we have heard! Tell me, is it true that he made love to a thousand virgins and defeated an army of the Undead, single-handed, then flew from the battlements of a great tower, like the bird he is named for, to steal away your esteemed mother and take her to his bed as First Royal Concubine?"

Tom gaped briefly, then eyed his sister.

"I may have exaggerated just a little," she admitted, guiltily.

"_A thousand virgins_! You should be spanked for even thinking of that at your age."

"Oh, Tom, don't be silly," she said, fondly, slipping her hand into his again. "You won't tell?"

He scowled at her. "Do I ever?"

"No," she smiled, "_Best of Brothers!_"

Brief flashes of past Daisy-related incidents were running through his head – as if he hadn't garnered enough trouble on his own, at times! "So I am, you baggage. And don't you forget it."

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_**To be continued...**_


	2. Lord Wainfleet

**Chapter Two: **_**Lord Wainfleet**_

Jack had been trying to get some work done while he waited for Tom to fetch the ladies, but though papers, books, pens and inkpot were all arranged on the table, he'd given it up and was now standing by the stern gallery, looking out at Singaraja harbor, but not really seeing it at all. That letter he'd received: Lord, it had fairly knocked him a-cock. What the devil was he to do? He'd be damned if he'd go back and settle in England. Cold and bleak, and full of wretched memories. Even the thought of _visiting_ his father's estate – now apparently his own, God help him – was highly unsettling.

What had made his father go to the trouble of fabricating the necessary documents to make Jack his legitimate heir? It was absurd! His father hadn't even cared much for him when he was a boy – just enough to fund him at the local day school, and lay a riding crop across his backside when he was caught at some mischief. And then, when mother had died, Jack had been sent away. His father couldn't bear the sight of him, like her as he was.

Wainfleet had supported Jack's mother while she was alive, of course, and by extension Jack himself. Mother had been given a neat little cottage on the edge of the family property, and Jack knew even then they were fairly well-to-do, able to afford many luxuries that other local families could not. Jack supposed Wainfleet did love mother in his way, but not enough to marry her. She had come from one of the few remaining Catholic families in that part of England, and it would never do for a Wainfleet to ally himself with a papist. So she and Jack had lived on the fringe of society, neither fish nor fowl, as the saying went, and Jack had felt the lack of acceptance from both his father and the local community every day of his young life.

He hadn't seen Wainfleet in years, not since that one time when they'd been visiting Harry's brother George in London, when Tom was just out of shortcoats. The Sparrows had been invited to a card party, an elegant affair given by an old friend of George's, and they'd been enjoying themselves very much when Wainfleet had been announced and walked into the room, causing Jack to spin toward the door as Harry said, "Oh my God!" and clutched at his arm. He'd stared, frozen, at that face from his past… the face of his father, but older, so much older. But only for a moment. Then he turned to Harry and patted her hand: "It's all right. No worries, love."

And it _had_ been all right, even when their hostess had brought Wainfleet over, saying he'd begged an introduction to the famous pirate-turned-successful-privateer and his lovely wife. Jack saw the recognition in his eyes, and it was evident the man barely knew what to say beyond the conventions. But then he asked Jack to join him in a game of piquet, and Jack had obliged him. There wasn't much talk during the game, but when it was over, and Jack had won, he looked at Wainfleet and said, "I can't take money from my father." Which was true enough: very bad form, that.

Wainfleet slowly put his purse back into his pocket. There was a long pause before he said, "I could always see her in your face."

"I know it," Jack had replied, shortly, and then Harry was there, standing at his side.

Wainfleet looked up at her from across the table, and smiled for the first time. "Mrs. Sparrow. You were once the Duchess of Wyndham, if I recall."

Harry inclined her head. "We met once, at a ball. Many years ago, when I was newly wed."

"Indeed. I remember thinking Wyndham a very fortunate man – though I wondered… well, you were very young, and I had known Wyndham for a very long time."

Harry nodded. "Life is full of strange twists and turns, my lord. My fortune has improved much in recent years."

She'd laid a hand on Jack's shoulder as she'd said this, and he'd reached up and caressed her fingers.

A small gesture, but Wainfleet saw and understood, looking from one Sparrow to the other. He said, "It is a great happiness to me to hear it. But now, if you'll both forgive me, I must take my leave."

Jack and Wainfleet had risen from their chairs, and when his father, with some hesitation, offered his hand, Jack had taken it, for the first and last time.

Dead and gone now, these many months. But the memories…

A light, quick step brought Jack back to the present, and he couldn't help smiling as his darling Lady Day burst through the door, a dimpling smile on her sweet face, all wrapped in apricot taffeta, like some delicious confection. She was quickly followed by her mother, who wore the same smile and looked far too young to be the mother of that handsome fellow with the saucy grin that brought up the rear.

Tom said, unnecessarily, "Here they are, Da."

"Are we going home, Papa?" demanded Daisy excitedly.

She shed her bright cloak to display a rather stunning – and somewhat revealing – costume. Jack frowned, disliking the notion of the Pearls, not to mention most of the population of Singaraja, gazing upon his young daughter's shapely bare arms and shoulders. "Is _that_ what you're wearing at the festival?"

"She'll be one of dozens dancing, my dear," Harry said soothingly, "and all of them pretty as flowers! She'll barely be noticed in the crowd."

Jack sat down and patted his knee, and Daisy took her place with alacrity, putting her arms about him. "_You'll_ notice me, that's all I care about."

Jack chuckled and gave her a squeeze. He said to Tom, "What took you so long? I've been wallowing in self-pity for the best part of two hours."

"Sorry. You know how they are."

"So I do," said Jack, with a dramatic sigh.

"What's this about?" Harry asked, untying the ribbons of her hat and taking it off. "Tom said you received a letter from England?"

"It's there, on the corner of the table."

Harry put down her hat and picked up the letter, quickly scanning the contents. Her brows lifted steadily and her pretty mouth was forming an O by the time she reached the end. She turned to him. "Jack, how can this be?"

"Bloody hell if I know." He said to Daisy, "Excuse my French. And don't let me hear you repeating it."

"Oh, _no_, Papa!" Daisy said, and shot a look at her brother, who winked.

"Pert minx," Jack said, pinching her backside. She gave a tiny shriek and jumped off his lap, and he rose and went to Harry. "I suppose we'll have to go to England, love. Will you like that?"

She took his hand. "Only if you do. But… I have been missing St. Claire more, lately. Perhaps it is time to go home for a while. We won't have to stay long in England."

"No." Jack slipped his arms around her. "Long enough to buy you some new gowns, though."

"And to show Daisy all the sights." Harry smiled.

"And young Tom here is just the right age to be introduced to the world." Jack grinned crookedly at his son. Lord, the lasses would be all over him. He might not be quite as piratically splendid as his father, but Tom was a very good-looking specimen, and sharp as he could stare.

Though his expression seemed a bit odd at the moment. "Do you think Anne will still be there?" he asked.

There was a brief, uncomfortable pause.

Once upon a time Jack and Harry had wondered if Tom's attachment to Anne Norrington, youngest daughter of Admiral James and his wife, Harry's old friend, Maggie, would endure and become something more than mere childish friendship. But things had changed. Tom had changed, even before they'd left St. Claire, and though he and Anne had parted on good terms – the boy had even given her a kiss goodbye, from what he'd said – it was likely Anne had changed a good deal as well. She'd been in England for the last several years, for one thing, attending a seminary for refined young ladies in fashionable Bath, and living with Norrington's older sister, Caroline. All this they'd had from Maggie's last letter to Harry, delivered some eighteen months ago and written long before that. There'd been no word from Anne herself since the first year of the Sparrows' voyage, perhaps because Tom had proven such a lamentable correspondent. Now Anne would be quite grown up, nigh on seventeen, ready to make her debut, and ripe for marriage. Who knew if Tom could rekindle the friendship they'd had as children and fan the flames to something more?

Harry said lightly, "She may very well be there, Tom. How good it will be to see our old friends again."

"Aye," Tom agreed, looking thoughtful, as well he might: he was no longer the innocent lad who'd left Anne weeping on the dock at Port Royal five years ago.

"Look!" said Daisy, demanding their attention from across the cabin.

She'd put on the rest of her costume, a golden crown, collar, and bracelets, and now she stood, straight and dramatic, arms stretched out on either side, ready to dance. "Tom, beat time on the table so I can show Mama and Papa."

Tom chuckled, and indulgently followed her orders.

As she began to repeat the studied movements she'd learned so well, Jack sat down and patted his knee again, and this time his darling wife obliged him, curling up and kissing him once… and again, more lingeringly, when he raised his face to hers. Daisy was busy dancing, and Tom was watching her performance, so Jack allowed one hand to roam a bit, until Harry captured and kissed it. "Later!" she whispered, eyes alight, and as she turned to watch her daughter she slipped her arm about Jack's shoulders.

_Later, indeed_, Jack mused, quite content to wait. Anticipation was a wondrous spice.

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_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Three: Remembering**_


	3. Remembering

**Chapter Three: **_**Remembering**_

Anne Norrington and her mother had just come in from yet another shopping expedition when, rather to their surprise, Anne's father was seen to be descending the stairs in a remarkably sprightly manner for a retired admiral of the Royal Navy.

"My dear," he said to Mother, who was taking off her gloves, "You must see the letter that came in today's post! I can hardly credit it myself, I assure you."

He handed the closely written sheet over to Mother, and then glanced at Anne and actually winked at her!

Mother read quickly, uttering a happy, "Oh!… _Oh!_", and raising one hand to her cheek. "I can't believe it!"

"But what is it?" Anne demanded, growing impatient with these cryptic ecstasies.

Mother looked up, eyes alight. "The Sparrows are on their way here! They'll arrive within the fortnight!"

Anne's heart gave a very odd jump, but she managed to refrain from uttering _Tom!_ for no, that was very much a thing of the past, and she wondered that she could so quickly forget the fact. "How exciting," she said instead, and forced a smile. "It will be good to see them all again. Daisy will be quite a big girl by now, I daresay."

"Indeed, she is turned ten, and Tom—" Mother's smile slipped and she looked suddenly conscious. "Well, it will be wonderful to see him, and Harry and Jack, too. It's been so long."

Father said, "Yes, but did you see what Jack said about Wainfleet?"

"I did," Mother said, and to Anne, "My dear, Wainfleet is… _was_…"

"Captain Sparrow's natural father?" Anne supplied, and was amused at her mother's startled expression. "Tom told me all about it, when I was nine or so."

Mother was shocked, but Father only gave a wry chuckle and said, "I supposed that was to be expected. But to return to this letter: if what Jack says is accurate, he may be, for all intents and purposes, Wainfleet's legitimate son and heir to a barony. But I wonder that Jack insists that the papers that have come to light must be forgeries. When an inheritance of such magnitude is involved, solicitors tend to verify the documents very carefully. They would not have written to him, else."

"But James, it can't be true," said Mother. "To have kept such a thing hidden all these years would have been infamous!"

"It would," Father agreed. "I expect we shall know more within a few weeks."

Mother nodded, and they put their heads together, reading the letter over again.

Anne slipped away and went quickly up the two flights of stairs and down the hall to her bedroom, situated at the back of the townhouse. The view was not as fine here as it was from some of the other chambers, but the room was quieter – London streets were dreadfully noisy – and she needed quiet just now, and solitude. She went in and shut the door and shed the new hat and shawl and the neatly tied parcels, all of which had seemed such treasures an hour ago, and were now rendered strangely insignificant.

_Tom_.

She sat down at her dressing table, but found it took an effort to gather enough courage to raise her eyes to the mirror. When she did, she was somewhat relieved that she didn't appear to be appreciably changed. Hair the same gold. Eyes the same brown. A good complexion, if a trifle pale at the moment. She was not quite as tall as Mother, but she had a neat, slim figure, and years of schooling, both in the seminary and under her Aunt Catherine's exacting eye, had instilled a modicum of grace and dignity.

She wondered if Tom would even recognize her. When the _Black Pearl_ had sailed, five years ago, she had been twelve and had grown into that horridly awkward stage, entirely lacking in charm.

Though he had kissed her goodbye anyway.

She found herself raising her fingers toward her lips, feeling the touch of his again, after all this time. The only kiss she'd ever permitted a man. Well, _boy_. But even at fourteen he'd seemed to know what he was about – and where had he learned such a thing? She stopped, looked up to see the color burgeoning in her cheeks, and said to her reflected self, "Oh! You stupid creature!"

But the memories did not fade just because she got up abruptly, went to the bed and threw herself down in a paroxysm of disgust. She felt again the pain of the changes they had both gone through after that memorable voyage to Barbados, which had long seemed the last time she and Tom had been entirely in accord.

They had been parted for months at a time, of course. After Daisy's birth had been duly celebrated, the Norringtons had sailed home to Port Royal, and Anne had resumed her quiet life, minding her books and learning the skills and deportment required of a lady of breeding. Tom had sailed with his father on the _Black Pearl_, or had stayed on St. Claire Island if he'd been banished by his father for some misdeed.

Anne had heard her parents discussing the latter issue. Father said that Captain Sparrow was surprisingly squeamish at times, and particularly detested corporal punishment. Rather than endure the offence to his sensibilities occasioned by the ordering and witnessing of a flogging, he had long been in the habit of ejecting the rare errant Pearl at the nearest port. Fortunately, the _Pearl_ was famed for taking rich prizes and never had trouble recruiting able seamen to replace any departed miscreants.

It was different with Tom, of course. Tom loved his father and the _Black Pearl_, and Jack wanted him to stay. But Tom, who had all his father's mischievous spirit, had reached the age when a lad could be a serious trial to his father and captain. Jack had reluctantly brought himself to thrash Tom, once on that voyage to Barbados, and again, when they were out on the _Pearl_ about six months later. But after that second instance Jack had declared that he was through putting himself through such anguish, and if Tom misbehaved again he'd be sent back to St. Claire in disgrace.

And Jack had kept his word. Tom was exiled within the year.

Returning to St. Claire under a cloud did not arouse the sympathy of Lady Harry, Rachel, or the Lightfoots, and when he wasn't studying, Tom was kept hard at work around Island House or the plantation. And in his small amount of free time he discovered that the other St. Claire lads were no longer as deferential to him as they had been in the past, and that finding his niche among them was a demanding process—a process that nearly terminated his friendship with Anne.

Suzanna had been brought to bed of twin girls nine months after Daisy was born, and Anne had accompanied her mother to St. Claire to greet the new arrivals and to help Suzanna in those first demanding weeks of motherhood. Anne had been overjoyed to find that Tom was also in residence, until he'd told her precisely why. He seemed angry with everyone, including himself, but he spurned Anne's pity for once, and even went so far as to reject her company entirely, calling her a "little girl" before the other boys. Anne was devastated.

When the twins were two weeks old, the _Black Pearl_ had returned to St. Claire, just long enough to allow her crew to admire the little ones, enjoy home comforts, and replenish the water casks. Tom's hope of regaining his place on his father's ship was soon dashed, however. Captain Sparrow was far from pleased with the reports he was given of his son's conduct, and with what he observed himself. And Tom, on hearing that he was to remain on St. Claire for the time being, protested in so unrestrained a manner that his father hauled him off to the library and slammed the door, partially muffling the ensuing reprimand, but not entirely: the words "insolent brat", "miserable scrub", and "damned lubber" were distinctly heard, along with a promise that, if the situation didn't improve dramatically by the time the _Pearl_ came back again, Tom's father would surely steel himself to do his duty though it killed him and Tom both.

Fortunately, the situation did improve, and with surprising speed.

The _Pearl_ had sailed the following morning, and by that afternoon Tom had disappeared. "He'll be back when he gets hungry enough," Rachel had assured Lady Harry. But Tom's mother looked so very sad that Anne's anger was roused, and she determined she would find him and reiterate his father's epithet: _miserable scrub!_

It took her nearly an hour, but as she'd expected he was in one of his hiding places, the many locations of which he'd revealed to her in years past, in happier times. But she hadn't expected him to look quite so ravaged, or his dirty face to be quite so streaked with tears. Her anger could not hold. She hesitantly approached him, and this time he did not distain her sympathy.

Things had changed. Their friendship was not the same. But when it was time to go home again, Anne and Tom parted on better terms, far better than she'd thought possible only a fortnight before.

Tom did eventually return to the _Black Pearl_, but not for long. Exiled to St. Claire again within a few months, Tom remained there until he finally turned twelve years of age and Captain Sparrow told him he might go to sea once more – on the _Zephyr_, commanded by her newly made captain, Michael Owens.

It wasn't what Tom had wanted. Anne heard that he'd refused to salute his father, or even acknowledge his existence, when the _Zephyr_ took leave of the _Black Pearl_. But in spite of this poor beginning, Captain Sparrow was found to have acted wisely: the subsequent two years under Michael's command had been the making of Tom, as the saying went.

Even after Tom's first year on the _Zephyr_, when the ship put in to Port Royal and lingered to allow for some necessary repairs, Anne's father was moved to say that Mr. Sparrow appeared to have put the rough ground of early adolescence behind him, and was on his way to becoming the consummate sailor they'd always known he could be. Father had invited Michael and Tom to dinner shortly after the _Zephyr_'s arrival, and as Anne had not seen Tom in over a year, she too was very impressed, and somewhat startled, with the changes in her old friend. He had grown in so many ways.

But the rift that had formed between them at the time of her nieces' birth had never entirely healed, and now there was the additional awkwardness of her own budding maturity. She could not seem to help blushing hotly at his glance, or stammering like a goose when she tried to converse with him. And then she found that even a casual touch of his hand upon hers made her insides shiver in a way that was truly disconcerting. She was relieved when his duties aboard ship prevented his visiting much, and took care that she never met him alone when he did. After two weeks, Anne watched the _Zephyr_'s departure from the window of her bedroom, and one sad truth emerged from her miserably chaotic thoughts: there was no going back.

It was somewhat easier a few months later, when the families gathered for a grand Christmas in Port Royal. And then, after he'd turned fourteen, Tom returned to Port Royal for the last time, on the _Black Pearl_. The long-planned Voyage of Trade and Exploration was to become a reality at last, a voyage to the far side of the world, and the Sparrows might be gone for years.

She might never see Tom again.

Anne could tell that Tom was overjoyed at his reconciliation with his father and at the prospect of a protracted voyage on the _Pearl._But he gave clear hints that he was sad to be leaving her behind, as well, and on the last evening, when everyone was gathered at Governor Swann's mansion for a farewell banquet, Anne took Tom's insistent hand and followed him outside, into the gardens.

They walked together, quite alone, out to a grove of palms that grew near the cliff's edge, overlooking the harbor, and stood in the shadows of the trees.

Anne broke the awkward silence. "She's beautiful." The _Black Pearl_ looked her part, small and perfect at the distant dock, a ship of dreams.

"She is," Tom agreed, but then he lifted Anne's hand, and as she turned to him she saw that his words had been meant for her.

She felt suddenly breathless. _He's going to kiss my hand_, she thought. But he hesitated, his crooked smile fading, then pulled her toward him, bent, and kissed her lips. She gave a startled, devastated gasp: "Tom!" and then his arms were about her, and she permitted it, permitted herself that one moment, before pushing him away. "Tom, no! I can't bear it!"

He kept hold of her hands. "I'll miss you, Anne."

She was willing herself not to cry, but his face was a blur as she said, "Will you write to me?"

_Will you remember me at all?_

"Of course I will!" he'd declared.

Oh, that smile, and the light in his eyes.

He had written, a few times, and her parents had been kind enough to allow her to read and reply. But they needn't have worried: his letters became fewer, then stopped altogether by the second year. Lady Harry would add Tom's greetings at the end of her own missives, but it wasn't the same.

When she was fourteen, Anne began a new life. Father's sister, Aunt Caroline, now a widow, had come to visit for a few months. She had deigned to approve of her niece, though not of die-away airs or the light promises of sailor lads, and had suggested that Anne would benefit from a change of scenery and from some polishing at one of the select seminaries for young ladies that were to be found near fashionable Bath, where Aunt made her home. Aunt Caroline said that in three years' time, Anne would be ready to make her debut into society, James and Maggie could join them in London, and Anne would no doubt contract a marriage that would bring honor and great good fortune to the Norrington family.

The predictions had all come true – or were about to, at least, if Hartfield came up to scratch, as Aunt Caroline vulgarly put it. Cecil Price, sixth Earl of Hartfield. A good-looking man of thirty, well-liked, wealthy, and apparently besotted with Anne – a succession of floral offerings had been gracing the drawing room of the Norringtons' rented townhome for several weeks, since the day after they'd met at the first ball of the season. Aunt Caroline approved unequivocally, and though Mother had said that there was no need to rush into anything, Anne could see that she and Father were very pleased as well.

It was an excellent match, and Anne knew she should have been ecstatic. She'd _tried_ to be ecstatic. But the fact was, she wasn't. Whether it was maidenly reserve, or only empty-headed frivolity, she had been dreading the thought of Hartfield making her an offer.

And now _this_.

She set her teeth, staring up at the elaborately embroidered canopy over her bed, but seeing a handsome boy's dark eyes and crooked grin.

"Bloody _hell!_" she said, aloud, and hardly knew whether to laugh or cry.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Four: Reunion**_


	4. Reunion

**Chapter Four: **_**Reunion**_

William Weatherby Turner had been sitting in the bay window of the drawing room for most of the morning, ostensibly studying a dusty old history book, but keeping half an eye on the street – and more than half an eye, more than half the time. He and his parents and Grandfather had been installed in his Great Uncle George's home in Mount Street for less than a month when word had come that the fabled _Black Pearl_ would soon be arriving in England, and just yesterday a messenger had ridden up from the coast with a note informing the Turners and Swanns of the Sparrows' imminent arrival.

Young Will barely remembered these interesting relations of his, though there was one incident involving his cousin Daisy that still remained vivid, probably because said incident did not redound to his credit and such things seemed to stick in one's head more easily than happier events. It didn't seem quite as dreadful now that he was turned eleven, but at not quite six, smashing a ball through one of the French doors at Grandfather's mansion, when he'd been expressly forbidden to play with his new cricket bat anywhere near the house, had seemed a crime worthy of Dead Man's Cay. But Daisy had grabbed up the bat and stepped in front of him just before everyone had emerged from the house to see what had happened, and she'd said, in a quite convincing performance, "I did it. I'm sorry, Grandfather. Wilby said you wouldn't like it, but I just wanted to try it once, that's all." And he had not refuted her lie, not even when Cousin Tom had marched her off to be confined to her room for the rest of the day and evening. It had taken Will hours to gather the courage to confess the truth, but he had done it at last, though Daisy's wrath at having her Plan spoiled had almost been more painful to endure than his father's grave displeasure.

He remembered Daisy's spirit more than her appearance, though he'd retained a general impression of a very pretty girl. But five years was a long time, and no doubt she had changed a great deal by now.

For the first time since he and his family had arrived in this cold, damp country he was quite agog with happy anticipation. Not that it hadn't been fine meeting Uncle George, and seeing some of the sights. But England was such a far cry from Jamaica that he could not understand at all why grandfather had chosen to return here to live on his retirement. Perhaps the schools were better here, and of course William Weatherby understood how fortunate he was that grandfather was willing to not only pay for his education but take care of him during school holidays. But the thought of his parents leaving him here, to be sent off to live and learn with a pack of strangers, made him wish he was still a child and could weep with vexation. Not to mention _dread_.

But now a coach and four hove into sight, bowling around the corner and into the square, and it was followed by another, larger conveyance, piled high with trunks and a huge wooden crate. Distracted from his brooding, William Weatherby leapt to his feet. It had to be them!

He yelled as he ran through the foyer and down the hall: "_They're here! They've arrived!_" His parents, Grandfather, and Uncle George were enjoying a late breakfast of coffee and pastries in the morning room at the back of the house, which afforded a view of the small back garden, and he burst into the room. "Two coaches, and mountains of luggage! Mother! Father! They've arrived!"

But Mother had already risen to her feet, laughing, and Father, too, though Grandfather complained, "Enough, lad! We've all heard the news."

But Uncle George said, "Weatherby, you're such a spoilsport. If Harry's return isn't worthy of some shouting, what is, eh? Come, let's go greet them, lad."

The footman, Geoffreys, who'd been with the family forever, was having some difficulty in maintaining an appropriately impassive mien as they piled into the foyer, but he opened the front door and, even as they went out, the coaches were rumbling to a stop. Will descended the stairs, two at a time, then hesitated, unaccountably shy, as the groom opened the door of the coach to reveal a slight figure, all pink satin and lace. The laughing eyes met his and she jumped out before the steps could be let down, the startled groom briefly steadying her before letting her go. "Wilby!" she squeaked, and put her hands out, bouncing over to him.

What could he do but catch hold? "Daisy?"

"Of course! Don't you remember?" she demanded, looking him up and down. "_You_ haven't changed a bit!"

"Day, that's cruel – and untrue," scolded a tall, dark young man as he climbed from the carriage – Cousin Tom! He flashed a grin and said to Daisy, "He was five when you met him last, of course he's changed." But then Tom turned with a bow. "How do you do, Uncle Weatherby? Uncle George?"

"Tom! My dear boy!" Grandfather embraced him.

Captain Jack emerged from the carriage next – he was unmistakable in spite of looking somewhat less piratical than when Will had last seen him – and he gave a hand to Aunt Harry, who alighted with the additional assistance of Mother and Father - Aunt's dress was an amazing confection, and wanted to get caught on things. At last it was accomplished, however, and the enthusiastic and, in some cases, tearful greetings went on for some time.

Daisy said confidingly, "I didn't mean it that way, Wilby. You look very grown up."

Will, feeling oddly bemused, said, "No one's called me that in years."

Her smile vanished, and it was as though the sun had dipped behind a cloud. "Must I not call you Wilby? But what _do_ they call you?"

"Just Will, or William Weatherby. But you can call me Wilby, or anything you like."

"I've always called you that in my head, so Wilby it must be." Then she sank into a graceful curtsey, for Grandfather and Uncle George had come to greet her.

"Child, come give your uncle a kiss," said Uncle George, and held out his arms. Daisy complied with alacrity, and then was released to repeat this performance with Grandfather.

"Just like your mother at the same age. Charming. Too charming." Grandfather shook his head reminiscently.

"Aye," said Captain Jack, coming over to wink at his daughter. "And too saucy by half, she gets away with murder. I daresay she got that from Harry as well."

"Oh, most assuredly," Grandfather agreed. "I did warn you."

But Lady Harry said, "Elizabeth, do you hear them maligning me and my darling girl?" She beckoned Daisy. "Come, my love, that's enough bouncing for now, haven't we been bouncing along that execrable road for hours? Let us go in and Anatole and Louise will bring us all some refreshments. George, you won't mind them taking over the kitchen while we're in residence?"

"I warned my own cook that it might come to that. I'd thought to send him away on holiday, but he said he'd be pleased to take instruction of such artists."

"How very tolerant of him, and wise, too. Amelie and Alphonse are with us, as well, and will see to the unpacking. Geoffreys!" Lady Harry lifted her skirts and trotted up the stairs, smiling at the footman. "How happy I am to see you again! Will you mind showing Amelie and Alphonse where our things are to go? And that crate on top of the carriage must be brought in with the greatest care. The drawing room will do for the Unveiling."

"What's in it?" Uncle George asked.

"It's a surprise for you," Aunt Harry said, tossing a smile at him, over her shoulder, before leading the way into the house.

**o-o-o**

James Norrington gave a hand to his sister, Caroline, as she descended from the hackney coach, then paid off the driver, who'd been remarkably patient, fully earning both his fee and the extra coins James pressed into his hand. As the coach drove off, brother and sister climbed the marble steps of George Swann's residence, and then James vigorously applied the door's gold-plated knocker.

It had been nearly an hour since Swann's kitchenboy had come around with a note: _They've arrived!_James had instantly determined to walk the few blocks to Mount Street, but Caroline had commented, "Have they indeed arrived? I vow, I am all agog to meet them, James. Give me but a moment and I'll come with you. Will you please call for a carriage?" and then had kept James (and the coach) waiting nearly half an hour while she changed her gown and had her maid redo her coiffure – both of which had looked perfectly adequate to James before she'd left the room, though she'd only chuckled when he'd mentioned this in venturing to remonstrate with her when she reappeared at last. "Men never understand these things," she'd said, with the maddening complacence of an elder sister who'd never, in James' memory, given him so much as an inch of moral advantage.

The door was opened by Swann's footman, who seemed to have been expecting them, but as they stepped inside, Harry appeared from the drawing room, followed by an exquisite child who could only be Daisy, the picture of her mother save that she had Jack's darker hair, and his eyes.

"James!" Harry exclaimed and rustled over to take his hands. "How good it is to see you!"

"My dear," he said, with a surprising surge of emotion, and raised each of her hands to his lips in turn. Then he said, more lightly, "I see you haven't lost your modish touch. How did you obtain the latest in French fashion so quickly when you've been at sea for months?"

She chuckled. "Isn't this an absurd creation? But the story of its acquisition must wait. Is this not your sister?"

"She is! I beg your pardon, Caroline. This is Mrs. Henrietta Sparrow. Harry, my sister, Lady Hayes."

The ladies both sank into curtsies, eyeing each other with interest the while, and Harry said, "I wonder that I never chanced to meet you when James and I were unleashed on the town as youngsters."

"There's no great mystery in that," said Caroline. "I was already married and buried in the country – Hayes detested town life and whisked me away as soon as he'd put the ring on my finger. I heard of your marriage to the duke, of course."

"Of course." Harry gave an almost unnoticeable grimace, then brightened. "But let me introduce my daughter, Marguerite."

Daisy came forward and made a very creditable curtsey, her eyes demurely cast down, and said, "How do you do, ma'am?"

Caroline deigned to smile, and said to Harry, "Excellent. She's the very spit of you—"

"_James!_"

It was Jack, striding across the foyer, his face alight. He looked nearly as young as ever – as did Harry: what a strange magic hung about them! – but he was dressed more extravagantly than of old, with his facial hair neatly trimmed, and his long hair stripped of its ornaments and curled down his back. Alphonse had obviously been hard at work.

Memories assaulted James, came flooding in at the sight of his friend, of that golden grin: his unbelievable (and annoying) insouciance on the scaffold, about to hang at James's order; the love and pride of him as he'd taken Harry to wife before man and God; the panic in his eyes as Tom was being born in the _Pearl_'s Great Cabin; his fire and skill in battle – and his luck, too, which he'd needed often and often; his empathy and the force of will that had brought James through that terrible injury, fifteen years ago now.

James owed this man, this _pirate_, so very much. His life. And his happiness, as Maggie would agree.

They embraced. And James felt oddly complete again.

"Five years, Jack," he said.

"Too long," Jack agreed. "But we're back now, and maybe for good. Harry wants to see St. Claire again, and I'm getting too bloody old to be sailing 'round the world from scrape to scrape, eh?"

"Are you? You certainly don't look it." And James grinned to see how Jack preened at the compliment.

It had surely been _far_ too long.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Five: Considering the Sparrows**_


	5. Considering the Sparrows

**Chapter Five: **_**Considering the Sparrows**_

The Sparrows were too pretty by half.

Caroline was sitting on the edge of a gilt chair in George Swann's drawing room, watching them as they presented their family with gifts from afar. For Will Turner and his son there were swords, long, slightly curved, and strangely ornamented, that were said to be of Japanese make, and Elizabeth received a lacquerware box filled to the brim with perfectly matched pearls. For Weatherby there was a case containing two wonderfully ornate pistols, which caused some hilarity among the family when both Weatherby and Sparrow threatened Harry with dire vengeance if she so much as touched them. Harry protested that they were most unkind, and hadn't she inflicted only that one _minor_ wound upon her husband, and hadn't Jack subsequently taught her everything there was to know about firearms so that even he had to admit that she was now a fine shot? – to which Weatherby retorted with a Look and a single word, "_Nevertheless!_"

The wooden crate in the middle of the room was for George Swann, and it was carefully opened to reveal a truly magnificent chest, again of Japanese make, inlaid with elaborate scenes and lacquered in the "sprinkled gold" style.

George was ecstatic, for he was a connoisseur of fine furnishings, but Weatherby said, "From Japan again. How on earth did you acquire such things? Their ports have been closed to us forever!"

"Oh, the VOC was happy to oblige," Jack Sparrow said, with a wink at his son, who grinned.

Weatherby demanded, "You did not endanger your family by engaging in piracy on that voyage?"

Sparrow said, "Not on purpose! Could I help it if those bl— er… if the Dutch occasionally took exception to our presence in the East Indies? And the ladies were safe as houses, give you my word, I always sent them below at the first sign of any trouble."

"Not that they always _stayed_ below," Tom Sparrow said in a humorous aide, though his amusement was quickly stifled at a glare from his father.

Before Weatherby could remonstrate further, Jack changed the subject by telling James, "We've gifts for you Norringtons, too, but they're still back on the _Pearl_. Didn't learn you were already in London until we arrived."

"Just seeing you all is gift enough," James said.

Caroline said nothing, but continued to sip her tea and nibble on the truly superlative cakes that were attributed to the hand of one of the Sparrows' _two_ French cooks. Too pretentious.

And too pretty.

She herself was quite aware of the magnetic attraction of the Sparrow patriarch. He might be a scoundrel, but Jack Sparrow had more charm in his little finger than Caroline's departed husband had ever thought or hoped to possess. And Sparrow was certainly a fit mate for his wife, of whom Caroline had heard little good when the chit was a girl. No chit, now, of course – she was nearing fifty, though one wouldn't think it to look at her, and her husband was some six years older, or so James had said. In an earlier age the pair might have been burned for witches. It wasn't natural to retain such a youthful appearance past thirty.

Years ago, Caroline had been profoundly thankful when she'd heard that Harry Swann had been removed from James's orbit, having accepted an offer from the Duke of Wyndham, her senior by some forty years. Caroline, aware that the Swanns' financial straits precluded a refusal, even by so heedless a girl, felt it was justice. Harry had been leading her brother Weatherby a rare dance ever since she'd come up to town, and George, ever the profligate, had positively encouraged her hoydenish behavior. Marriage to his grace should certainly have quashed that rebellious spirit but, in the event, Harry had not suffered long. Fanshawe had cocked up his heels after only a few years, and there had been no issue. The girl was left with a widow's freedom and the wealth to indulge it. But by then, James had been safely out of the way, a rising lieutenant in the Royal Navy, with neither the rank nor the proximity to tempt such a creature.

It had seemed, however, that Harry hadn't been tempted to remarry at all, until her adventure with the pirate Jack Sparrow, years later. Of course the two were drawn to one another –it was only a wonder that Weatherby was shocked. A scandalous _affaire_, and their son born not five months after the hastily arranged wedding. Sparrow had, of course, distinguished himself somewhat over the years, sailing as a privateer for England and working with James and the Royal Navy, but what difference did a piece of paper make? Rogues, the pair of them, as anyone could see at a glance, God help them both.

Their daughter seemed a sweet child in spite of beauty that assured she'd been petted and spoiled since birth. She'd no doubt go on to break many hearts in a few years time – starting perhaps with William Weatherby Turner's. He appeared to be besotted already, for the wonderful new sword (shorter than his father's, but just as finely made) had been set aside and he was now sitting in a corner with his cousin, enthralled as she quietly but enthusiastically regaled him with some outlandish tale.

But it was Tom Sparrow that worried Caroline. He was somewhat taller than his father, but was otherwise very like to what one imagined the pirate had been in his youth. He moved with confidence and an unconscious grace, his body spare and well-knit, and of pleasing proportions. His dark, silky hair was uncurled and unpowdered, simply tied at his nape, and his eyes were just as dark, and full of warmth and wit: any lady would kill for such eyes. In truth, she'd rarely seen a handsomer boy, and he had a great deal of his father's preternatural charm as well, though with a more wholesome air, perhaps because of his youth. Nineteen. Two years older than Anne. But Tom Sparrow was not for her niece, not if Caroline Hayes had anything to say about it.

She could see why Anne had been smitten, particularly as they'd been playmates as children. But handsome and personable as he was, the boy could not vie with Cecil Price, Earl of Hartfield, as a potential mate, either in birth or in wealth. Tom's father was a bastard, a by-blow of Wainfleet's – Caroline put no faith in this tale of James's that Sparrow's claim to the barony might prove to be legitimate – and Tom's mother's wealth was tied up, eventually to be passed on to her daughter. The Sparrows were rumored to have acquired a considerable fortune through their recent travels, but that could hardly compare with Hartfield's, built up over generations. No, James and Margaret would surely have the sense to discourage any connection between Anne and young Tom, and Anne herself must be made to see reason, for there was no doubt that the boy was quite capable of inspiring a reanimation of her childish affection. Caroline positively dreaded the next few days, when they should be thrown together through their parents' activities.

Tom was brooding a little just now, for when he first greeted James and Caroline and asked after Margaret and Anne, he'd been told of the ladies' prior engagement: a house party at the Hartfields' estate, a few miles outside of London, from which they would not return until the next morning.

"Hartfield's mother particularly wished to meet them," Caroline had told Tom and his parents. "She is an old friend of mine, but is something of an invalid and cannot attend the London parties where her son and Anne so often meet."

James had spoiled things somewhat at this point by saying, "But listen: we are all to go to Vauxhall tomorrow evening, we've reserved a box. Will you all come with us? We'll take boats across to the water entrance, and there'll be dinner and music, dancing, and a thousand Chinese lanterns lighting the walks. I believe even Daisy and William Weatherby are old enough to attend."

Daisy had clapped her hands with delight. "Oh, yes! Can we please go, Mother?"

Caroline had said smoothly, "Indeed, you all must come! Hartfield and his sister have already consented to join us, and you will no doubt like to meet them. I hesitate to say too much, but to tell you the truth we have great hopes that something may come of the connection. He dotes upon Anne."

And James redeemed himself, then, by chuckling, "He's been sending flowers every other day – our drawing room smells like a florist's shop."

"How lovely, though!" Harry had said, with a smile that had faded at her son's ill-hidden dismay.

Tom said now to James, "It's a gift seeing you again, too, sir. Will you please give Anne my warmest greetings when she comes home tomorrow? And her mother, too, of course."

"Of course." James suppressed a smile.

"Speaking of tomorrow," Jack Sparrow said, "I'm to go to Wainfleet's solicitors in the morning. Weatherby and Tom will come along, too, though Will is engaged elsewhere, and George has declined—"

"Land sharks, the lot of 'em," George Swann asserted, and certainly he would know, his legal entanglements had been epic, and he'd always been on the edge of disaster until he'd finally won a fortune in a single night at his club and subsequently swore off high play. "I shall escort the ladies and the children to the park."

"—but I was wondering if you'd care to lend your support as well."

James looked extremely pleased. "I'd consider it an honor, Jack."

"Good," Sparrow said, sounding relieved. Harry, sitting next to him, touched his hand, and he picked up hers and kissed her fingers, with such a look in his eyes…

Caroline removed her fan from her reticule and opened it. "How warm it is today," she murmured, cooling her cheeks.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Six: The Truth of the Matter**_


	6. The Truth of the Matter

**Chapter Six: **_**The Truth of the Matter**_

When James and his sister had taken their leave (James assuring Jack he would be back in time for a cup of coffee before they should have to set out for the lawyers' office in the morning), and William Weatherby and Daisy had gone out to investigate the back garden and the stables, Elizabeth said, "Tom, you mustn't be cast down by this news of Hartfield's suit. I don't believe Anne favors him as greatly as Lady Caroline implied. Anne missed you dreadfully, all the time you were gone – I can't tell you how many times she visited us in the early days of your voyage, hoping that Will and I had received more news of you than she."

Tom made a face. "I know I should've written more often."

"Water under the bridge now, lad," Jack said, shaking his head.

But Elizabeth went on: "I know she looks forward to seeing you again. I spoke with her just last week when she came here to dinner with her parents."

"Did she say that?" asked Tom, hopefully.

"Not in so many words. But she did ask about you, and it was quite evident to me. I believe you'll be delighted with her– she's such a pretty thing, and sweet as she was when you were children, for all her aunt's efforts these last three years."

George gave a bark of laughter. "Caroline Norrington was old cattish even when she was a girl. No need to take her tittle tattle to heart, lad."

Tom tried to smile. "I suppose I'm lucky to be here in time. We could so easily have been out another year and she would've been married already."

"That's the spirit," said Jack, standing, giving him a hearty pat on the shoulder, then stretching elaborately. "Lord, all this junketing about the countryside's made me devilish stiff and tired. If you don't mind, I believe I'll go up and take a rest for an hour or two. Are we in the same rooms, George?"

"Yes. The sheets were aired just yesterday, and there's a vase of Harry's favorite roses. Are you going up as well, sister?"

"I thought I might," she said.

"I thought you might, too." George grinned, for she did not seem at all weary, but on the contrary, had a sparkle in her eyes and blush on her cheek as she took Jack's hand and allowed herself to be led from the room. George looked at his brother. "It would've been against nature to keep them apart, you know."

Weatherby sighed. "I daresay. I have to admit, they still appear to be unreasonably happy, even after all these years." And he smiled when Elizabeth rose and came to him, bending to kiss his cheek.

"Heaven will reward your indulgence," she said. Then she turned to Will. "I believe it's in Anne and Tom's interests that we aid them by whatever means possible. What do you say to a shopping expedition? And perhaps we can stop at Gunter's for an ice on the way back. Father and Uncle George, will you take charge of Daisy and Will for us?"

"_Wilby_, you mean?" George chuckled.

"We'll be happy to do so," Weatherby said, "but don't spoil your appetites –Anatole and Louise were discussing Possibilities when last I saw them, and dinner is bound to be a feast tonight."

Tom said, "Aye, we haven't been on ship rations precisely, not since we ran across that French merchantman off Tenerife – that's where mother got that gown, by the way, and a good many others, too, wait until you see. But Anatole is never happier than when he has a well-stocked market at his disposal, and his happiness generally results in ours."

**o-o-o**

After a memorable "rest", a bath (which resulted in a little more "rest"), a superlative dinner that included enough wine and brandy to alleviate anxiety, followed by a good night's sleep, Jack Sparrow nearly felt ready to meet with his late father's solicitors, though he was very glad he wasn't going alone. Lawyers were tricksy buggers, and there was already too much about England that made him squirm.

He recognized that these uncomfortable feelings were left over from his youth, but it made little difference. He had to continually remind himself that he was Captain Jack Sparrow, Scourge of the Spanish Main _and_ the East Indies, and not that half-starved cartographer's apprentice, or the child that had been hustled aboard a ship to serve as a cabin boy less than a week after his mother had been laid in her grave.

All these thoughts Jack kept to himself as the carriage bowled along toward the Temple, half listening to Weatherby and James telling Tom about the sights as they passed – and really, London had improved in the last five years. Or perhaps it was merely that it was a perfect spring morning, with the sun shining for a change.

Wainfleet's solicitors had a most impressive set of offices, and only Weatherby refrained from staring about like a bumpkin. But Jack and his companions were shown into the chamber of one of the senior partners almost immediately, and Harold Clarence greeted Jack most affably.

"How do you do? Be seated, all of you, pray. I must tell you, Captain Sparrow, the pictures I've seen of you quite fail to do you justice," said Mr. Clarence with a smile.

"Pictures?" Jack frowned.

"On the various handbills and pamphlets in which you've been mentioned over the years. As your father's solicitor I felt it my duty to keep abreast of your activities, and I fancy I have a complete collection of everything that's been published in England, as well as much that originated in the West Indies and in the American colonies. Exciting but discouraging work, when we were both younger and you… er… strayed from the narrow path, so to speak. I rejoiced when you reformed your way of life on your marriage, and after the last twenty years of honorable service to your country there can be no doubt that you are not only the legal heir to the Wainfleet barony, but a most worthy one. I congratulate you."

Jack gaped a little.

Weatherby cleared his throat and said, "If we can be frank for a moment, my brother-in-law was under the impression that his parents were never legally married – that he is Lord Wainfleet's natural son."

Clarence nodded. "I am aware. I feel a profound grief, Captain, that you have spent your life, heretofore, in ignorance of the true state of affairs. Indeed, I did attempt to remonstrate with your father upon one occasion in regard to this issue, but with no success. However, what is past is past, and it is now in our power to move on and see that you succeed to your true and just inheritance."

Jack was still gaping, but now managed to speak. "You mean it's not all a hum?"

Clarence's brows rose. "A hum? If by that you mean that you believe us to have brought you back to England under false pretenses, I can assure you it is no such thing. But you needn't take my word for it. All the papers are in order, as you will soon see."

The next hour was taken up with examining said papers, including a certificate of marriage signed by both parties as well as both a Catholic priest and an Anglican minister and the required two witnesses.

Clarence said, "The witnesses were your mother's servants, and though they and the minister have passed on, the priest is still alive and living in a quiet way quite near your residence in Lincolnshire. The circumstances of the ceremony were most irregular, but entirely legal. But your grandfather was alive at the time of the marriage, and would have disinherited your father rather than countenance his alliance to a papist. I believe your father would have openly acknowledged his marriage if your mother had not passed untimely, before the death of the old lord. I do not know your father's precise reasons for sending you away so precipitately—"

"I know his reasons," Jack said, bitterly. "I look like her – or I did back then."

Clarence nodded. "Certainly that is one of the reasons. But I fear… or rather _know_ that your father thought to remarry, and thought too that his first marriage could be set aside with little trouble. In the event, however, he could not bring himself to carry out this plan, and in his later years he gave us instructions in your regard, which are contained in his will. If you will bear with me, I will read the document to you in its entirety."

It was a lengthy piece, some fifteen pages, but what it boiled down to was that Jack inherited nearly everything.

He felt very odd, and suspected he was quite pale under his tan, by the time Clarence read the last page, the mix of pain and elation like nothing he'd ever experienced. That his father had done such a thing, treating his mother so; that they'd both kept the truth from Jack. That Jack was a peer: Lord Wainfleet. That Tom would inherit.

Jack became aware that Clarence had stopped reading and was looking at him in some concern, and that James was saying, "Jack? Are you all right? Can we get you something?"

Jack pulled himself together. "A bloody great bottle of rum might help," he quipped, trying to smile and mostly succeeding.

James laughed, and patted his shoulder, and Weatherby said, "Well, well, it's not every day that one's life goes quite so topsy turvy, is it?"

"Too right," Jack said, and took a deep breath. Then his eyes went to his son's, and he grinned at Tom's stunned expression. "What do you think, son?"

A whole gamut of emotions crossed Tom's face, but what he said was, "We're still pirates at heart?"

Jack was aware from Weatherby's groan that he was probably rolling his eyes, but Jack's heart swelled, and he clasped his son's hand. "Always, lad. Always."

**o-o-o**

Elizabeth and Will had taken William Weatherby and Daisy to Hyde Park for an airing, and even George had deigned to join them, but Harry had declined their invitation. She knew how very much disturbed Jack had been about his "inheritance", for months now, and she wished to be home when he returned from seeing Wainfleet's lawyers. Hopefully once all was made clear to him he would enjoy London more, and England in general. Harry had her own set of unpleasant memories associated with _this blessed plot_, but they were nothing to his, and she deeply regretted the necessity of reopening old wounds.

She had spent the last hour in the bright morning room, sewing, and Louise had just brought her a cup of tea and a piece of seedcake when she heard the distant sounds of carriage wheels slowing on the cobbles, followed by the hearty voices of her men. Quickly securing her needle in the sleeve of the shirt she'd been repairing (one of Jack's favorites), she jumped up and hurried out. Jack, Weatherby, James and Tom were just being let into the house when she reached the foyer, and she immediately sensed their elation, in spite of Jack's bemused expression.

"What happened? What did they tell you?" she demanded, holding out her hands.

Jack took them in his, then pulled her close, but said nothing, and it was Weatherby who broke the astonishing news.

"Well, sister, it appears that your friends have been strangely prescient. The esteemed men that George erroneously styles land sharks assure us that you really are _Lady_Harry."

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Seven: Vauxhall**_


	7. Vauxhall

**Chapter Seven: **_**Vauxhall**_

Anne's heart was thumping as she rose from her dressing table where her maid had been arranging her hair. A last look in the mirror – her new gown was very well, though the colors, white with pale blue and silver embroidery, made her heightened color more noticeable – and she swept out the door and down the hall, swallowing hard at the sound of familiar voices that came to her ears from the foyer.

_Tom._

She was determined she would not behave awkwardly. He was merely her old friend, a friend with whom she'd had next to no communication in four years. But as she descended the staircase and saw him there, among her family and his, and as he turned to look up at her, she had to pause for just a moment, stifling a gasp, feeling strangely lightheaded. Then she realized what it was and gripped the banister.

She would _not_ faint!

And she didn't. By the time she reached the bottom step she had taken herself severely in hand, and even his dark eyes, pleasurably raking her from head to toe, could not shake her resolve.

He came forward to greet her. "Hello, Anne," he said, his voice deeper, more musical, and yet the same.

"Hello, Tom," she said, and held out her hand. He took her fingers in his – she had to steel herself again at his touch – bowed (how tall he'd grown!) and very properly kissed the air just above them. But as he straightened he retained his hold on her fingers just a moment too long for strict propriety, and gave them a warm squeeze.

There was a brisk knock on the door, which was immediately opened to reveal the earl and his sister. Anne had never been so thankful for Hartfield's advent.

She smiled mechanically in greeting, and as her parents began to make the introductions, she went to stand a little away and began to notice things other than Tom. There was a great deal to notice, for not only were the Turners and both elder Swanns present, but Tom's dear family as well. Captain Sparrow and Lady Harry were a little older perhaps – there were some threads of gray in their hair and some fine lines at the corners of their eyes – but they were the familiar and remarkably beautiful couple they'd always been. They were dressed quite magnificently just now, in garments that had to have come straight from Paris, and even Daisy, in spite of her extreme youth, was clad in a gown that was very much _a la mode_.

She was the same Daisy, however, and now came right over to Anne, sparkling with delight.

"You're so different," she said, "but I remember you. Papa says I have a memory like an elephant. I'm Daisy, you know."

Anne chuckled. "Of course I know – though you have certainly changed, too. How long it's been! You were so small when you sailed away, and now you are quite grown up."

Daisy said privately, but with devastating candor, "Not as grown up as you are. I don't wonder that Tom was so anxious to arrive– he said you'd be lovely."

Anne managed to say, "Why, thank you," but felt her cheeks growing warm again.

Daisy cocked her head. "Should I not have said that? But he's been telling me all about the adventures you and he used to have together, and how you sometimes would even spend the night together, when you were small."

Memories of those comfortable nights, and others, like stealing Anatole's tarts, or whole days spent together in the treehouse at Governor Swann's estate, or sunbathing _au natural_ on the _Black Pearl_, now made Anne extremely _un_comfortable. She cleared her throat. "Has he indeed?"

But this unsettling conversation was cut short as Lady Harry approached. "Anne, how good it is to see you again! I hope my daughter hasn't said anything untoward?" She eyed Daisy with a raised brow.

Daisy slipped her hand into her mother's. "I was only telling her that Tom missed her."

"Is that so? Well, that's true enough. But I believe, daughter, that you and I must have a talk in private when we get home."

Daisy flushed, her high spirits somewhat dashed. "Yes, Mama."

Anne's heart went out to the little girl. "Please don't give her a scold, ma'am. Tom and I were such friends when we were children, it would have been strange indeed if we had not missed each other. I hope we can still be friends, now that you are here in England for a time. Do you plan to stay long?"

"I'm not sure," Lady Harry said, sounding a bit worried. "I daresay you have heard the news of Jack's inheritance."

"Yes! Father told us this afternoon. It's wonderful."

"It is. So wonderful that it's difficult to fathom all the implications. Jack wishes to go into Lincolnshire as soon as may be."

"That's where the estate lies?"

Lady Harry nodded. "We'll take the _Pearl_ up to Boston within the week – there's an adequate harbor, he says, and we can hire coaches to take us out to the estate. Elizabeth and Will are to go—"

"And Wilby!" Daisy asserted.

Her mother smiled. "And Wilby. And Anne, I believe your father is considering Jack's request that all of you come as well. Do you think you would be able to tear yourself away from London for a time?"

Leave London. With Tom. On the _Black Pearl_.

_Oh, yes! I would like it of all things!_

But she resisted her unwise heart, which urged her to set aside the years of silence and longing. As Aunt often reminded her, she was no longer a child, and the qualities that had made Tom such a fascinating playmate were not necessarily conducive to a more mature relationship. So she said, instead, "How kind of you. Surely Mother and Father will go, but I have accepted so many invitations… engagements that I must attend. I fear I will be obliged to stay here, with Aunt Caroline."

**o-o-o**

In spite of her determination to resist the allure of Thomas Jackson Sparrow, the beginning of the evening was such that Anne felt almost as though she were moving through a dream.

Three carriages had been hired for the occasion, to transport the entire party to the Thames-side dock where they would take boats over the water to Vauxhall. Mother and Father were in the first, with Captain Sparrow and Lady Harry, and Will and Elizabeth; George and Weatherby Swann were in the second with Aunt Caroline, all being amused by Daisy and William Weatherby; and Hartfield and his sister rode with Tom and Anne in the third. To Anne's surprise, Tom made no objection to Hartfield handing her into the carriage and seating himself beside her; Tom did the same for Hartfield's sister, Jane, in a perfectly gentlemanlike fashion. Anne tried not to think that his easy acquiescence was due to the fact that sitting opposite afforded him a clear view of her, which he would not have had sitting next to her, but she could not seem to help being gratified that his eyes were upon her a great deal of the time, though his contributions to the conversation were very properly directed to all.

The weather was perfect, the short rain of early afternoon having given way to an almost cloudless sky, and London seemed to sparkle as they drove through the town. When they arrived at the dock, it proved to be a charming affair, and the boats were so prettily decorated that Lady Harry exclaimed over them, inspiring Will to say something about painting the _Black Pearl_ in a similar fashion. Captain Sparrow looked appalled at this suggestion, and asserted that only the presence of the ladies prevented him from calling his nephew out on the spot.

Laughter gave way to quieter delight as they embarked and were conveyed over the water. When they reached the south shore there was a delay, for many people were arriving at the same time. Anne's father and Hartfield went to confirm the arrangements and pay the entrance fee for their party, and it was Tom who helped Anne and Jane from the boat. But Jane hurried off to speak with her brother, leaving Tom with Anne. He extended an arm, she took it – so comfortable, so disturbing – and together they made their way through the dark passage and into the glorious garden itself.

Anne had heard much about Vauxhall, and had been looking forward to visiting the place ever since she and her family had arrived in London. Bath had two pleasure gardens of its own, of course, the Orange Grove and the Spring Gardens, but she had been told that they paled in comparison with those at Vauxhall, and the truth of this was now before her. The neat gravel walks, lined with trees, some of them quite enormous, some laden with flowers or delicious cherries; the diverse shrubberies; the ornate fountains and temples; the wonderful music—birdsong as they arrived, from hosts of larks, blackbirds, and nightingales, and then, as dusk approached, from an orchestra of some fifty players and written by the finest composers of the day; the statues and paintings, all produced by the most gifted artists and designed to uplift and enrapture even the most jaded viewer; and, as night descended, the glow of lamps, thousands it seemed, their golden light illuminating not only the place itself but the hundreds of elegant people gathered to enjoy this seeming Heaven on earth.

Hartfield claimed Anne for the first hour, and he escorted her about the main walkways, and answered many of her questions, for he'd been to Vauxhall countless times and was actually acquainted with the owner, Mr. Tyers. As they walked, they often had pleasant encounters with members of their own party, though Anne only caught sight of Tom once, from a distance, and was startled to see him standing surrounded by at least four ladies, one of whom was Jane. However, after the lamps had been lit and the orchestra began to play, everyone made their way to the supper boxes in the Grove to partake of cold meats (including the famous paper-thin slices of ham), cheesecakes, fruits, syllabub, and punch, and to listen to a half-hour recital of art songs warbled by a buxom and very elegantly attired soprano.

Anne was seated between Hartfield and Governor Swann, and once again Tom was directly across from her, his mobile countenance and occasional humorous additions to conversation making her want to giggle like a schoolgirl, which he could see plain enough. His gaze was often warm upon her, and though she tried not to meet his eyes (for she could not help blushing when she did) there came a point at the end of the meal, when Hartfield was expounding at tedious length on the intricacies of plumbing the Garden's many fountains, and she looked up, saw Tom's crooked smile of sympathy, and briefly allowed herself to communicate her boredom. It was just a slight change in expression, nothing anyone else could would notice, but to her delight he responded immediately, rising and saying, when Hartfield paused for breath, "Aye, that's all very interesting, but the dancing seems to be starting up and Anne's promised the first one to me, if you'll forgive us?"

"Certainly," Hartfield said, complacently.

Tom came around the table for her and she stood and took his hand. Tom's mother and father looked pleased, but Aunt Caroline was frowning, and her own parents and many of the others seemed surprised and concerned, as was Anne herself, a little, until the dance began and she could see that Tom not only knew the steps but could perform his part with Sparrovian grace. She must have betrayed her astonished pleasure, for they came together at one point in the dance and he said, "Alphonse is a good dance teacher, don't you think? He has a knack for picking up the latest steps, wherever the _Pearl_ happens to be."

"So that's where you learned. You dance beautifully!"

"Then there's a pair of us," he grinned, before they were separated again.

That dance turned out to be the high point of the evening for Anne. She wanted it to go on forever, weaving in and out among so many others with a gaiety inspired by the company as much as the music, but always coming back to Tom, always sure of his smile, always sure that his steady hands would lead her aright.

But it did end, and when it was over, a number of the other dancers crowded around, detaining Tom with praise and prying questions. Word of Captain Sparrow's inheritance seemed to have spread among the guests. Tom laughed over the commotion, but Anne found herself edged out of the way, and then Hartfield appeared at her side.

"Will you walk with me?" he asked.

"Yes," Anne said, after only a moment's hesitation. Her heart, so light as to be blessed with wings only moments before, had stilled and now began to fill with something small and exquisitely painful, though she could not name it. Refused to name it.

For it was evident that Tom's change in status, from privateer's son to peer's heir, had quite suddenly made him an object of interest to many an ambitious lady. And evident, too, that Tom didn't mind in the least!

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Eight: Reversals**_


	8. Reversals

**Chapter Eight: **_**Reversals**_

Harry had been to Vauxhall before, for there had been a pleasure garden on the site for nearly a century, but the place had improved out of all recognition since then – nearly twenty-five years ago! Now, with supper concluded and Tom happily dancing away with dear Anne, Harry excused herself to answer the call of nature, and Jack said he would escort her to the area set aside for such matters, saying he'd be dashed if he'd trust all these bloods and court cards to keep the line around his pretty wife, a remark that both pleased her and made her laugh.

When her errand was complete, she found Jack lounging against a nearby tree and said to him, "Daisy is safe with Elizabeth and Will, let us go for a stroll again. I want to see this notorious Druid's Walk that George spoke of."

"I'm entirely at your service," Jack said, taking her hand and tucking it into his arm. "I could use a private assignation just about now. All this gaiety is very well, but… I don't know. Maybe I'm getting old."

"You certainly are not!" Harry asserted. "It is only that we have become accustomed to a quieter life at sea – cards, or music, and dancing on the forecastle, with our family and the crew, who are all our friends—"

"—or early to bed with you in the Great Cabin." Jack threw her a suggestive glance.

She returned it, snapping open her fan and wafting it languidly to cool her cheeks. How he could make her blush so easily, after all their years together…

He grinned and patted her hand.

The Druid's Walk was a long path that ran parallel to the Grand Walk, but was narrower, romantically overgrown, and only dimly lit, the perfect place for romance – or something more illicit. Jack and Harry caught glimpses of several pairs lingering in shadows, and of one couple, who apparently thought they could not be seen, engaged in some most shocking behavior. Harry muttered, "Oh, dear!" and hurried her husband along.

He chuckled and said softly, "Growing prudish, Mrs. Sparrow?"

"Not at all – as you know very well. But I fear I have reached the age where I prefer the support of a soft mattress, rather than a tree."

"Is that right?" Jack's voice was full of laughter, and it was not long after when he drew her into a secluded copse, some way off the walk, as she might have known he would do. He pressed her up against the smooth bole of a stately ash, which was at least surrounded by sweet-smelling flowering shrubs, and after kissing her into submission, proceeded to prove in a most scandalous fashion how unfounded was her fear.

**o-o-o**

It was some time before they returned to the Grove, and longer still before they were able to return to their party's box, rather to Harry's consternation, as she had been profoundly affected by the clandestine interlude she and Jack had enjoyed.

"That's what comes of straying from the narrow path," Jack had said, with a truly evil leer, when she mourned the fact that the evening was only half over and all she wanted now was her bed.

But even as they slowly walked back to the more populated areas, they were greeted and detained by several people, and it was borne in upon them that rumor of Jack's change in circumstances had begun to be circulated among the throng.

"My Lord Wainfleet!" said one young man, with a bow. "You don't remember me, perhaps, but I'm an undersecretary at the Naval Office."

Jack was momentarily taken aback, but then growled, "Naval Office, eh? Then it's _Captain Jack Sparrow_, if it's all the same to you." He returned the bow and moved off, pulling Harry rapidly along.

"Jack… Jack, it's only a name… will you stop!" She dug in her heels and jerked her hand from his grasp.

And he did stop at that, and turned to her, though for a moment he didn't seem to know what to say.

She went to him and took both his hands in hers. "My dear, don't be upset."

"How the devil did word get out?"

Harry had a feeling she knew. Caroline Hayes was a busybody if ever there was one, and there was Hartfield's sister, too. But she merely said, "It was bound to come out sooner than later, it's far too interesting a story to be kept secret for long."

"Dirty linen, hung on the line for all to see," he muttered.

She knew how intense was his dislike of having his business – his true business – become public knowledge, so she did not try to comfort him further. Instead, she tucked her hand in his arm and said, "Come, let's go sit in the box and watch the dancing, and perhaps we can leave in another hour or so."

George, Weatherby, Lady Caroline, and James and Maggie were there, watching the revels, though Maggie was fanning herself, having joined in the last country dance with James.

Weatherby said, "There you are. We were wondering what had happened to you."

"Your little sister has been showing me the joys of the Druid's Walk," said Jack, and winked at Harry.

Her cheeks grew warm again as the vivid memory of their encounter at the Ash tree reasserted itself, and she heard her brother George laugh.

"Harry, Harry. Be careful. You are once more the wife of a peer and must behave accordingly. Here, sit down, both of you. _Walking_ can be so very fatiguing."

"Too right," said Jack, pulling out Harry's chair for her, then sitting down beside her. "But what's worse is that the whole bloody place seems to be aware of my… er… fortune, and I'm wondering how it's got about so quickly."

Lady Caroline said nothing, though Harry noticed the spots of color on her cheeks and the way she avoided their eyes.

Maggie said, "How very annoying! But such news does travel very quickly. I don't suppose it could be helped."

"Perhaps not," said Harry, "but we may take our leave in an hour or so in any case. Is Daisy with Will and Elizabeth?"

James replied. "They've taken both children to see the Chinese Pavilion. But here's your eldest, with a fair maid on either hand."

Harry and Jack saw that Tom was some distance away, and had stopped to speak to his companions. Then he made his bow to them, and the two went off, their heads together, while he strode swiftly toward the supper box, his expression rather grim. When he drew closer, he did try to smile as he greeted everyone, but it faded when he said, quietly, "Da, will you give me a moment?"

"As many as you like," Jack said, getting up.

The two made their way toward the entrance to the Grove, and stood under one of the tall trees. Harry watched them with a sense of foreboding. It was a brief conversation, and at its conclusion Jack took his son's shoulder and gave it a shake, at which Tom smiled, but shook his head. He then looked up, gave a little wave to Harry, turned, and strode off down the Grand Walk, toward the Garden's entrance.

Jack seemed thoughtful as he returned to the box.

Maggie voiced the question. "Is Tom leaving us?"

"What's happened?" Harry asked.

"There's been a bit of an Incident. But here come Anne and Hartfield. Let's see what they have to say."

Anne, a little pale, had nothing to say, but went and sat beside her mother, who took her hand in some concern.

It was Hartfield who spoke, in a quiet, self-possessed tone. "Admiral Norrington, may I beg you and your wife's indulgence. There has been a development that Anne and I must discuss with you in the privacy of your home as soon as possible. I am very sorry to be obliged to cut short our revels—"

"No apologies, Hartfield," said James, with a frown. "I can see that something's amiss. Maggie, Anne, get your things. Aunt Caroline, are you with us? And what about your sister, Hartfield?"

George said, "Weatherby and I will see her home whenever she chooses."

**o-o-o**

When the Norringtons and Hartfield had gone, Harry said, "Jack, what's happened?"

He shook his head, giving Harry and his two brothers-in-law a grimace. "The Druid's Walk again. Hartfield took Anne there and apparently asked her to marry him, then tried to kiss her and she turned skittish. Tom was within earshot, recognized her voice and went hotfoot to the rescue. He didn't strike Hartfield, but he got him away from Anne, and then Hartfield told him what was afoot and Anne confirmed it."

"Oh, no!" Harry exclaimed.

"And what's more," Jack went on, "those two lasses that were with Tom saw the whole thing. He asked them not to say anything, but I daresay you can imagine how long that'll last."

George said, quite jovially, "Probably all over the Gardens by now. Lord, what did we do for entertainment before you Sparrows came to town, eh?"

"George, it's not amusing," Harry told him, highly annoyed and very worried about her son, and Anne, too.

But Jack chuckled grimly. "Well, it is rather like a French farce. Don't worry, love. Things'll come right in the end. I can't see Tom giving up easily."

"No, indeed," agreed Weatherby. "Why little Anne has loved him all her life!"

**o-o-o**

But Tom had a different view of the matter.

He stumbled through his Uncle George's door at nearly four in the morning, having met a couple of really prime coves, Bertie Sandringham, a young viscount, and the elegant but amiable Lord Augustus Fox, on the boat going back into the city. The two had immediately perceived that Tom was the victim of Thwarted Love – "Been there too often not to know the signs, dear boy," Bertie had assured him – and on learning precisely who he was, had offered to introduce him to a neat little establishment in Pall Mall where he could forget his cares over some excellent libations and various games of chance, in the company of a friendly but elite set of gentlemen.

Jack, who had waited up for his son, laughed. "I suppose they skinned you?"

"Not at all," Tom said, indignantly, and he swayed over to the Italian sideboard that graced the foyer and rather defiantly emptied his pockets of what looked to be several hundred pounds in both coin and banknotes. "Drank 'em under the table, too, _and_ thought to hire a chair to bring me home. I'm a trifle well-to-live, wouldn't be up to fending off thieves or pickpockets."

"Very prudent," said his father, helping him toward a chair.

"Only, Da… I think I'm going to be sick now."

Jack helped him back outside instead, and held Tom's hair out of the way as he vomited into one of the two potted palms that were situated on either side of the front door.

Eventually rising, with only a little difficulty, he looked solemnly at his father. "S-sorry. Are you angry?"

"No," said Jack, taking out a handkerchief and wiping a bit of spittle away from the corner of Tom's mouth. "Just don't make a habit of it, all right?"

"No," Tom agreed, and hung his head. "She's going to marry the bloody earl, Da."

"Maybe, but it's not over yet, not till the ring's on her finger."

"Do you think there's a chance?" Tom asked, the drink making him sound desperate. And indeed, his eyes began to sting with tears.

"Of course there's a chance! Come inside, things'll look brighter in the morning. Or the afternoon, now, I suppose."

They went back in, and both of them were startled to see Tom's mother at the foot of the stairs, her robe tied at her trim waist, delicately embroidered slippers on her feet, hair flowing down her back, and her expression grim.

"You said you would call me when he got home," she said to Jack, accusingly.

"Now, Harry—"

"I'm fine, Mother," Tom told her, quite appalled. "I'll just go on up to bed."

"Hmph. _Fine_, is it?" She approached, observing Tom's state with disapprobation. "I suppose you would lay all this at Anne's door?"

"She said-"

"I warrant she said what she was forced to say, with you and those young ladies standing there."

Tom frowned, considering this.

His mother went on, "I shall speak to Maggie first thing in the morning. There is no need to despair, not yet at least."

Tom nodded. "That's what Da said."

"Your father is a very wise man. Now here is Alphonse, who will help your father put you to bed."

Tom grimaced at the sight of his father's valet coming down the stairs in his nightshirt. "I didn't mean to get everyone up."

Mother said, "It's only the three of us, and I am going back to bed. Good night, my dear."

She would have kissed his cheek, but he turned to her and embraced her, burying his face against her hair for a moment, something he hadn't done in a good many years.

She hugged him tight, and her voice trembled a little as she said, "My poor darling. But all will be well. You'll see."

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Nine: Friends and Lovers**_


	9. Friends and Lovers

**Chapter Nine: **_**Friends and Lovers**_

Harry slept later than she had planned, but by ten o'clock she was seated at the small writing desk in the drawing room, composing a note to be taken around to Anne's mother. But she'd barely written two lines when there was the sound of a hackney coach stopping before the house. She jumped up and went to the window.

"Maggie!" she said aloud, with great satisfaction, and went into the foyer. The footman was standing ready to open the door, but she shooed him aside with a smile and opened it herself as Maggie reached the top of the steps.

"Harry!" her friend exclaimed, looking both relieved and worried.

"Come in! I was just writing to you, I slept far too late, but Tom… well, I'll tell you in a moment. Geoffreys, will you ask Anatole and Louise to bring some refreshment for Mrs. Norrington and myself, tea and some of those delicious pastries Amelie brought in with my chocolate this morning – you must try them, Maggie! Louise is a genius in the kitchen with proper ingredients to hand – one of the advantages of being in London. She is having such an enjoyable time she vows it's like a holiday for her."

Geoffreys had bowed and departed as Harry led Maggie into the drawing room, closing the door against unexpected intrusion, and now they crossed to the far side of the room and seated themselves upon George's elegant brocade-covered sofa.

Harry took Maggie's hand. "First, how is dear Anne?"

"I doubt she slept at all last night. She looked wretched when she came down to breakfast, and while we were sitting there yet another bouquet of flowers was delivered – two dozen white roses. Harry, she burst into tears! I took her up to her room immediately, of course, and gave her a spoonful of Brown's Cordial to compose her spirits, bidding her rest until this afternoon. But before she fell asleep she told me how very much she regretted going apart with Hartfield last night. She blames herself, and says it was due to jealousy of the attention Tom was receiving from so many of the young ladies in attendance."

Harry nodded. "I suspected as much. Jack was very surprised – and disturbed – at the way word had spread of his new situation, but I was not, not in the least. At such a venue, rumor flies about unhindered."

"Very true. And besides Jack's inheritance, there is the fact of his illustrious and fascinating history as a privateer! It's no wonder every lady at Vauxhall was a-flutter. It's the next thing to being a pirate. And he and Tom are so extremely handsome."

"They are," Harry said, smiling. "But listen: Tom was out nearly all night, and though he had met some sympathetic gentlemen who endeavored to help him forget his troubles by way of cards and drink –"

"Harry!" Maggie looked horrified.

"Not to worry, he won a great deal of money from them, and got home safely, though he _cast up his accounts_, as they say, soon after he arrived and Jack and Alphonse had to put him to bed. I daresay he will be feeling quite horrid when he wakes and will have no trouble obeying Jack's degree that he refrain from making a habit of such behavior. But before he went to bed, he clearly communicated to us his despair over Anne's engagement. He loves her, Maggie, and I believe he is mature enough that it's no passing thing with him."

Maggie shook her head. "If he had only kept up a regular correspondence with her while you were gone. And Caroline's words against him took root, I'm afraid. She has no opinion of privateers, or sailors in general, really, though her own brother is an Admiral!"

"She supports Hartfield's suit."

"Oh, yes. And I'm afraid she has Anne convinced that the die is now cast, and there is no turning back, though nothing will be announced for a month. Hartfield and his sister are giving a ball, and he told us he would like to make the engagement official at that event."

"We have a month, then," Harry said, with satisfaction. "A great deal can happen in a month. Maggie, you must convince Anne to come into Lincolnshire with us! She and Tom will then have the time they need to sort out this tangle."

"She is coming with us," Maggie said, firmly. "James is most annoyed over the way the affair was conducted, and he vows he will not leave Anne to _gallivant all over London_, as he says, while we are called away in support of Jack. Caroline was very angry, for he wouldn't listen to her arguments which cited social obligation and the like. We were all most surprised that he was so adamant, for he has deferred to her judgment in Anne's regard for years!"

"How good of James to choose this moment to come to his senses!"

Maggie laughed. "I'll let him know you approve."

"Do!" said Harry, with a grin.

There was a scratch at the door, and both ladies turned as it opened. But it wasn't only the tea and pastries. Tom, looking surprisingly well, followed the housemaid in, along with another young gentleman in very elegant riding clothes and a bob-wig, his tricorn under his arm.

"Good morning, Mama, Mrs. Norrington," Tom said, with a bow. "This is Bertie Sandringham – _Viscount_ Sandringham, that is – come to take me riding!"

Bertie bowed and said, "Deeply honored. A pleasure to meet you both."

Harry inclined her head. "The pleasure is certainly ours. But Tom… I didn't expect you to… to be awake quite this early."

Tom chuckled. "Alphonse brought up Bertie's card and a restorative draft that had me in good trim in no time! Will you tell Da I'll be back this afternoon? He and I are to go down to the Pool on some business."

"Yes, of course. But you've not had breakfast!"

But Bertie said, "Oh, don't worry about that, ma'am. I want to introduce Tom to a little place I know – not in the best part of town, but the victuals are of superior quality. I happen to know the proprietess." He colored.

Harry raised one brow. "Indeed." She said to Tom, "Be careful, please."

He came over and kissed her cheek. "I will." He looked at Maggie as he straightened, and for the first time his good humor faltered. "It's good to see you here, ma'am. Will you give Anne my regards, and my congratulations. I did wish her joy last night, but…"

"I can well imagine," Maggie said, dryly. "But you will be able to tell her yourself. She is coming with us into Lincolnshire. We sail with you, on the _Black Pearl_, in only three days' time I understand."

Tom's face fairly lit up. "That's… oh, that's _excellent_ news!"

Bertie gave Tom a nudge. "Told you it'd be all right, one way or another."

Tom flushed, and said to Maggie, "I fear I may have told Bertie—"

"—and Gussie," the viscount put in, with a teasing grin.

Tom scowled. "And Gussie, something of the situation."

Bertie said to Maggie, with great sincerity, "Silent as the tomb, ma'am. No need to worry about us blabbing."

"Thank you," Maggie replied, gravely, though her eyes smiled.

Harry, however, had no reason to suppose that the fresh-faced viscount was possessed of more tact than the young rattles she'd known in her youth. She said, to Bertie and Tom, both, "I beg we can rely on your discretion. The lady involved in the matter would be very hurt indeed to have her good name bandied about the town."

"Not another peep," Tom said, quite seriously, "And I'll slit this fellow's gullet if he breaks his word."

"Ha! You may try!" Bertie said cheerfully, on his mettle. "Perhaps we should have a look-in at Angelo's, for some fencing practice, later, just so we can see what you can do."

Tom grinned. "Perhaps we should at that – though I'll have to remember those Rules of Engagement you gentlemen are always on about. Son of a pirate, you know."

**o-o-o**

Hartfield and his sister came to dinner the night before Anne and her parents were to leave London. Perhaps she had grown used to the idea of marrying him, or perhaps it was because he seemed so happy to see her, but it was all much easier than Anne had expected. Hartfield was a kind man, and handsome in his way.

He said all that was proper when it was time to say goodbye, studied her face for a long moment, as though memorizing it, and kissed each of her hands in turn.

When he had gone, Father said, "Well. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Good night, my dear."

Anne kissed him, and mother, too – such worried eyes – and her aunt, who was odiously pleased.

As she climbed the stairs Anne thought how glad she was to be leaving London for a time.

But when she was in her nightgown and sitting before her mirror, brushing her hair, her aunt peeped in, quite unannounced. "May I speak with you a moment, dear?"

"Of course!" Anne replied, though somewhat against her inclination.

Aunt Caroline came and stood behind her, watching her in the big mirror as Anne continued brushing. "I just wanted to have a little coze with you, before you are quite gone. How I will miss you!"

"I'm sorry you'll be left alone," Anne said, with real sympathy.

"My dear, don't even think of that! I have many friends here in London, as you know, and I will contrive to keep myself occupied, never doubt it. No, what I wished to say to you was that, though I completely understand your reaction to the Incident at Vauxhall the other night, I feel your friend Tom was greatly at fault for breaking in upon you and Hartfield at such a moment."

Anne stared. "Aunt, Tom thought Hartfield was… " Her voice trailed off, and she colored.

"Yes, dear," Aunt Caroline said. "You said the earl tried to kiss you after asking you to be his own, and your reaction was precisely what any gently bred female's would be. But I daresay all would have been well between the two of you had you not been so rudely interrupted."

"But I was _happy_ that Tom interrupted!" Anne blurted.

"If Tom had not interrupted, the affair would not have been tainted by even the faintest whiff of scandal. Hartfield would not have gone beyond the line in such a setting! Intimate relations are such a distasteful business for any lady of sensibility, and particularly a maid untouched, but I have no doubt that you and Hartfield would have reached a… a _compromise_, given a little more time. And when you are wed, well, there are certain animal needs, common to all gentlemen, that one is required to fulfill. As the Bard said,_the world must be peopled_. But I have no doubt you will be prepared to do your duty, and will make an exemplary countess."

"Thank you," Anne said, faintly, as her aunt kissed her and took her leave.

Anne continued brushing her hair, but her puzzlement at her aunt's words soon began to turn to annoyance. Hartfield _had_ been prepared to go beyond the line. She would not else have felt that sense of panic and pushed him away. _A distasteful business_, indeed.

But Anne thought of Lady Harry and Captain Sparrow, and of her own mother and father, too, for that matter. Sometimes, when her parents had bid her goodnight, and Father took Mother's hand in his, there was a look in her eyes that conveyed more about marital relations than Aunt Caroline could apparently imagine. And her sisters, Suzanna and Julietta, who were now happy wives themselves, had told her a few things that were even more to the point.

Anne grew rather cold, thinking of Hartfield in that context. She expected Aunt Caroline was correct about merely tolerating her marital duties, though perhaps love would blossom in time. But she feared that Hartfield would never inspire in her the longing and the frisson of delight that her sisters had agreed were essential to true marital bliss.

Feelings that Tom inspired with a mere glance, or the touch of his hand.

A few minutes later, when she was settled in her bed in the darkness, she thought of Tom. In _that_ context. It was almost unbearable to know that she would never be free to love him, in every sense of the word, to wrap herself around him, body and soul; to shield herself within his arms, and warmth, and friendship.

Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes, and she rubbed them away, wondering that her life had taken such a turn. But it was her own fault that things had come to such a pass. She had made her bed and now she must lie in it. A chuff of laughter escaped her at the way in which that old saw was the barest truth.

She had a month. She would reconcile with Tom, and even if she could not have him as husband and lover, she would have him as her friend. The vision of his smile came to her again, and it calmed her.

"Tom," she whispered aloud, and sighed, and allowed herself to dream.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Nine: Friends and Lovers**_


	10. Journey Home

**Chapter Ten: **_**Journey Home**_

It rained nearly all the next day, all the way from London to the very outskirts of Dover, where the Sparrows had left the _Black Pearl_ safely anchored. Captain Sparrow, who loved a good storm at sea, detested traveling on land in inclement weather and was heard to mutter and fume occasionally, but there were few complaints from any of the other souls traveling within the three well-sprung and luxuriously appointed coaches, each drawn by six matched horses.

The Norringtons had not seen the Sparrows' arrival in Mount Street a few days before and so were unacquainted with their preferred mode of land transport. When the cavalcade drew up before the townhome, ready to take Anne and her family up at the appointed time, she and her parents stared out the window in amazement. Then Captain Sparrow climbed from the first coach, Tom sprang from the second, and both were up the steps and in the door in a trice.

"You're certainly prompt," Anne's father said with approval, "but what luxury, Jack! Those post-chaises look fit for royalty. They must have cost you a fortune."

"Of course they did, but I'll be damned… er, _dashed_ if I'll be bumped and jolted along that road any longer than needed – though it's like to be slow going in any case, what with this rain. Are you ready? Tom here'll ride with you in that second coach, if you don't mind. The Turners are all stuffed in with us as Day don't like to be separated from ol' Wilby, though they've been scrapping like a couple of pups lately. I told them I'll throw 'em out and they can run alongside, if they make a nuisance of themselves."

Father chuckled. "I can imagine what Harry and Elizabeth would have to say to that."

The captain sniffed. "Aye, you know what women are – including your Maggie here, and Anne too, I daresay. But Will's entirely in agreement with me, and I'm confident we can take the ladies if there's a set-to."

This comment inspired general laughter, which contrived to put Anne at her ease.

She had both dreaded and ached to meet Tom again, after their parting at Vauxhall, but Tom seemed to hold no ill-feeling at all, and had apparently recovered his spirits with great rapidity. He handed her into the carriage and spent the first part of the journey regaling the Norringtons with humorous tales of his adventures during the last three days. While Anne had been worrying, picking at her food, and spending a great deal of time sighing at fate in the confines of her bedchamber, Tom had apparently been indulging in a continuous round of entertainments specifically designed to appeal to the young man-about-town, with an occasional pause at the Swann residence in Mount Street to reassure his mother that he was still alive and well, and to introduce his newfound friends to the joys of _cuisine á la Anatole et Louise_.

Anne found herself growing inclined to resent Tom's insouciance, and inwardly took herself to task. His concern for her at Vauxhall must have been that of a friend, or perhaps an older brother, rather than being due to some warmer feeling as she had assumed. The happy times, the childish promises, the easy friendship, these were things of the past, and there was no reason that either she or Tom should have taken them in a more serious light.

As the carriage bowled along, Tom's stories began to focus on events further afield, and Anne, who had not slept well for some nights, began to nod. She finally fell deeply asleep in her corner of the swaying carriage, lulled by the pleasant sound of Tom and her father's voices as they discussed the intricacies of navigation east of Cape Hope.

She woke some considerable time later, as the carriage drew to a halt in the yard of an inn. The King's Arms was a well-known hostelry halfway between London and Dover, and it seemed that the Sparrows had sent ahead to order an elaborate luncheon, to be served in the large, private, upstairs dining room. It was an elegant space, and the crackling fire on the tiled hearth, the many branches of candles, and the scents of the plain, wholesome food they were served pleased everyone. Tom made a point of bringing Anne a steaming cup of punch to begin with, and then was seated beside her at the table. She found that her spirits, which had been a little dull with napping, rose amazingly.

The rain had turned to drizzle by the time they were ready to resume their journey, and Lady Harry decreed that she was quite tired of Jack and Will's endless discussion of weaponry and their defense of the tradition of the duello, and that the gentlemen could very well ride together in the second coach while the ladies took the first. The children were not exempted, rather to Daisy's dismay, but even she soon became reconciled, for the conversation flowed among the women in a natural, comfortable way, and in spite of all their years apart, their affection for one another could not be doubted.

As they drew nearer to the port of Dover, the rain began to lessen, then stop; and then, as they rolled through the town and came within sight of the harbor, the clouds began to break apart most splendidly. The rays of the westering sun turned the water to glittering silver, and the _Black Pearl_, which was drawn up to the dock to receive them, looked every inch her name.

When they arrived, everyone began to pile out, and Captain Sparrow was heard to exclaim, "Thank God _that's_ over!" He stretched his apparently cramped and crabbed limbs before going to the door of the first carriage to hand Lady Harry down himself.

"Welcome home, Captain!" called a familiar figure, walking down the gangplank with a wide smile.

It was Mr. Gibbs!

He looked very little older than when they'd seen him last, five years before; grayer, perhaps, but he'd always had a somewhat aged and ageless face.

"Aye, rum's a most efficacious preservative," he said with a wink, in reply to their exclamations on this head. "But who's this young sailor? By the saints, it can't be young William Weatherby Turner!"

"It is," said Daisy, "but he's only a schoolboy, not a sailor. Uncle Weatherby's sending him to Harrow when the term starts in the autumn."

"Ah, that's a fine school," Gibbs said. "But you should know, young missy, that a sailor's not only bred but _born_ to it. His paternal granddad, old Bootstrap Bill, was as able a sailor as ever hauled a rope, besides bein' a devil with a sword, and it certainly held true in _his_ boy, William Weatherby's papa here. It's in the Turner blood, same as it's in yours by way of Captain Jack."

William Weatherby told Daisy, "I know about sailing! We sailed all the way from Jamaica here to England!"

But Daisy sniffed. "You said you had the _mal de mer_."

"Only at first!"

"_I've_ never had it in my life."

William Weatherby glared, Elizabeth put a hand on his shoulder, and Lady Harry, arriving late to the fair on Jack's arm, said to Daisy, "Marguerite Elizabeth Sparrow, what have you been saying to make your cousin look so? William Weatherby is our guest!"

"Yes, Mama," Daisy said, though she returned Wilby's glare briefly. Then she suddenly grinned and said, "Come on! I'll show you the _Pearl_."

"I've been on the _Pearl_," William Weatherby groused, but followed after her, up the gangplank.

"_Years_ ago!" Daisy was heard to scoff. "Wait until you see her now, all the changes, and the things we've brought back."

"Oh, dear," said Lady Harry as the children disappeared.

But Elizabeth chuckled, and Will said to her, "Do you know who they remind me of?"

"Us." Elizabeth's eyes twinkled.

Will slipped his arm about her waist.

Captain Jack said to Lady Harry, "You're the one who insisted we needed a girl."

Lady Harry merely kissed him.

Tom said to Anne, "You're sharing a cabin with Lady Day, but just let me know if she don't behave. _I'll_ give her what for, even if Da won't. If you'll allow me, I'll show you where it is and you can start getting settled."

**o-o-o**

The Pearl sailed with the evening tide, and after a fine supper with their families in the Great Cabin, Tom took Anne outside to stroll along the deck and admire the rain-washed night sky.

She couldn't help being happy. She hugged herself, giving a little shiver. "It's like a dream come true to be here again."

Tom had noticed the shiver. "Are you cold?"

He was already removing his coat as she replied, "I forgot my shawl in the cabin," and he placed the garment tenderly around her shoulders. His warmth still clung to it, and she briefly closed her eyes. "Thank you."

"Anne… can I tell you something?"

She opened her eyes, and faced him, afraid and eager. How handsome he was. Tom. Her Tom.

He said, quite seriously, "We must always be friends, Annie. No matter what. You've made your choice, and how can I wish you anything but joy? But we must always be friends, and if you ever need me, if ever there's service I can render, you've only to ask." The crooked smile appeared. "Savvy?"

She nodded, tears stinging her eyes.

He went on. "This journey may be the last time we're together in such a way, so let's make the most of it. Nothing awkward, no inappropriate importunities. Friends. Agreed?"

He held out his hand. She responded in kind. How cold her hand was, enveloped in his larger, warmer one. She tried to smile in spite of her aching heart, and said, unsteadily, "Agreed."

"Excellent!" he said, and gave her hand a squeeze. Then he tucked it into his arm and they both turned and stood at the rail for a long time, gazing out on the moonlit sea.

**o-o-o**

William Weatherby Turner snored.

Tom lay on his back, listening to the low buzz of his cabinmate's even breathing, staring into the darkness, and smiling with grim satisfaction.

Mother had the truth of it. Annie, his lovely sweetheart, was as unhappy as he'd ever seen her in his life. And twice he'd caught her looking at him, her heart plain in her blue eyes, though she'd lowered them quick enough and would no doubt deny doing any such thing and call him a conceited rascal if confronted.

How he longed to take her in his arms and kiss her, kiss some sense into her! But he couldn't force the issue, not outright, not with their parents at hand and her believing that her honor was at stake. Ridiculous. But lives had been ruined before over such absurdities, if any of the tales in history and legend were true.

No, he would bide his time. The moment to move would be revealed to him. They had a few weeks, and it would be as well to wait, to allow their friendship to ripen again.

It had been stupid of him, neglecting to write to her in these last years, but he hadn't inherited his father's gift with a pen, and anyway, there had been so much to tell he wouldn't have known where to start. But it wasn't past mending, he wouldn't let it be, not even now, when she'd promised herself to another. Old Hartfield would just have to learn to live with disappointment – a hard lesson for one so used to getting his way. But life was like that sometimes.

For no one but Tom Sparrow was ever going to take Anne Norrington to wife, not if he had anything to say about it.

Not even if he had to steal her away to do it.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Eleven: Fleet Hall**_


	11. Fleet Hall

**Chapter Eleven: **_**Fleet Hall**_

Miss Seraphina Whibble knew very well she was a fortunate woman. For the last five years she had lived in the greatest luxury, her distant cousin, Lord Wainfleet, having invited her to make her home with him at Fleet Hall, situated a little north of the village of Mavis Enderby in the Lincolnshire Wolds. The house, originally built in the time of Queen Elizabeth and subsequently improved upon by several generations of Wainfleets, was perhaps not as elegantly symmetrical or as modern as one could have wished, but Miss Whibble was always inclined to resent those who referred to it as _that drafty old pile_. She had done her best to keep the Hall in good order for her cousin during the last years of his life, having assumed the duties of housekeeper, secretary, and, occasionally, cook on taking up residence in the Gold Suite, a compact set of rooms on the third floor, adjacent to the attic stairs and conveniently near to the servants' quarters, and she had always felt it was her privilege as well as her duty to assist her cousin in these ways. The work had been copious and satisfying to one who really preferred to be kept busy, and had the added advantage of bringing her into contact with the estate's steward, Mr. Alfred Locke, a gentleman for whom she had conceived a great respect in recent years.

But the happiness she had known at Fleet Hall was at an end, or so she feared.

Her cousin had been of an advanced age, yet he had never ailed until that fateful day when he went out for his morning walk – always a solitary expedition as he was something of an amateur naturalist – and was brought back to the house on a hurdle, unconscious. The doctor had been quickly summoned, but poor Wainfleet never regained his wits before succumbing a few hours later, the victim of a severe apoplexy. There had been no time for goodbyes, and, more to the point, no time to make any last minute alteration to his will in order to make provision for Seraphina, as he had more than once implied he would do.

As a result, Sera was informed that everything was left to Lord Wainfleet's son, the son he had openly acknowledged only in recent years, and whom he hadn't seen or heard from in over a decade. The son who was infamous throughout England (and apparently over much of the world) as Captain Jack Sparrow, explorer, privateer, and, in earlier times, notorious pirate, a man who had barely escaped the gibbet on at least one occasion.

In the year since her cousin's death, Sera had been much inclined to tears, both of grief and of apprehension of what the future might hold, but she had been able to keep this tendency under rigid control until two days ago, when she'd received an express communication from the family's solicitor in London, informing her that Captain Sparrow had finally returned to England to take up his inheritance, and that Sera would shortly have the pleasure of receiving him and his wife, their two children, his niece and nephew and their young son, and finally his close friend, retired admiral James Norrington, along with Mrs. Norrington and their daughter.

"You will say I have had ample time to prepare, but it is too much. Too much! Oh, Alfred, what am I to do?" said Sera, tears overflowing again. She daubed them away and blew her nose with what delicacy she could manage.

"Now, now," said Alfred, and offered her his own handkerchief, clean and neatly folded, as well as being rather larger and very much drier than her own.

She took it and subsequently said in muffled tones, "Thank you. So very sorry. Odious to subject you to such a display."

"Not at all," Alfred smiled. "You've borne up very well, my dear, and I make no doubt that your worries are quite exaggerated. There is no indication that the captain intends to make Fleet Hall his permanent home, after all."

"But there is no indication that he does not – and how could he not wish to do so?" she demanded. "After living in the squalor of shipboard life? I sailed from London to Cherbourg to visit a friend from school once, and it was a dreadful experience from start to finish. The ship was dirty and cramped, and I was ill from the moment I set foot upon the deck."

"It seems unlikely that your cousin views a life at sea with such disapprobation, however. He has been the captain of a ship for thirty-five years, if the stories are correct."

She sniffed. "He was a pirate for the first dozen of those years. A _pirate!_Can you imagine? And besides the property, there is the prestige attached to his inheritance. Could any man resist the trappings of a peerage after being brought so low in the past?"

Alfred shook his head, quite seeing her point.

But even at that moment, Phoebe, the youngest of the upstairs maids, burst in the kitchen door. "Ma'am, they're here! Blake says there's three big carriages coming up the drive! Oh, ma'am, what're we to do?" The girl wrung her hands.

Sera and Alfred both stood up, and Sera said, far more calmly than she felt, "We shall gather to greet them with the respect due to the new baron and his family, of course. Come now, run and call the others."

There was no need to call. Anticipation had been running high among the whole staff since Sera had received her letter, and several of their number had noted that the new baron's arrival was immanent and had spread the word. Everyone was gathering in the foyer, and when Sera and Alfred entered, the small crowd parted to allow them to reach the front door, which Blake opened. Sera felt as though she were going to her doom, and was most grateful for Alfred's strengthening presence beside her as they walked out, followed by the rest of the household. They stood in silence as the three post-chaises drew up before the entrance.

Blake trotted down the steps to assist the post-boys in opening the carriage doors. A great many persons began to emerge, including two young children, a boy and a girl, who looked about with apparent delight. The others, couples of varying station and maturity, were much more reserved as they alighted, and there was one gentleman of indeterminate age, slim and elegant in black with silver lacing, and very good-looking, who cast his expressive eyes over the house with an air of extreme misgiving. He turned to speak in a low voice to a diminutive lady as he handed her down from the carriage in which he'd been riding.

"But Jack, it's a lovely house!" the lady protested. She came forward, her demeanor and attire such that Sera would have felt a positive bumpkin but for the amiable smile with which the lady surveyed the scene. Her gaze settled quickly on Sera and she tilted her head slightly, like some curious and exotic bird. "Are you Miss Whibble?"

Sera, who found she'd been staring, flushed and curtsied. "Yes, ma'am."

The worried gentleman, the one who'd handed this lady from their carriage, now stepped up beside her and bowed. "I fancy we're cousins, then, from what they tell me. I'm… er… Wainfleet."

The servants made their curtsies and bows, and Sera said, "Welcome to Fleet Hall, my lord."

My lord made a face, cleared his throat, and addressed the entire household in a firm voice. "It's Captain, thanks. Captain Jack Sparrow. My wife, Henrietta, has been Lady Harry for time out of mind, but I've been Captain Jack Sparrow even longer and we might as well begin as we mean to go on. Savvy?"

There were murmurs of assent all around her, and Sera said, "Yes, Captain."

Captain Sparrow smiled at that, and said to her, "You, of course, can call me Cousin Jack," and the words, the voice, the expression held such singular charm that Sera's breath was quite taken away.

**o-o-o**

Sera shed tears again that evening, but for quite another reason.

"Too kind. Too generous," she said to Alfred as they walked in the moonlit garden, long after dinner had ended. "It's almost like a dream come true!"

Alfred smiled but shook his head. "Sera, they are getting the best of the bargain! You have always taken exemplary care of this house—"

"With your capable assistance." She smiled shyly, sniffing and daubing at her eyes.

"Perhaps so. But it is you who have born the greater burden these many years. The captain's father imposed upon your good nature quite shockingly, if I may say so, and now_he_ seems like to do so as well."

"Oh, no!" Sera objected. "You speak as a friend, but I beg you to put such thoughts from your mind. Once the staff and I came to an understanding, shortly after I first arrived, there was little but joy attached to my duties here, I assure you. That I will be able to continue to live here and to look after the house is such a source of comfort. The captain has agreed to _all_ my suggestions for improvements in the kitchen, too, as well as approving necessary repairs throughout the Hall. And Lady Harry was so kind as to commend my work in many areas, particularly the linen cupboard, the refurbishing of which, as you know, has been a pet project of mine. She seems most knowledgeable in the many aspects of keeping a house in good order."

Alfred chuckled. "That _is_ surprising. She looks a frivolous creature."

"She was Duchess of Wyndham in her youth, and is now mistress of a great plantation in the West Indies, when she is not traveling the world with her family. And I believe she cultivates that light appearance, to some degree, for her own amusement and for that of her husband. She told me that the captain is ordinarily much more colorful a character as well, but that their return to England has weighed upon him to a disturbing degree. They will only be staying a few weeks, and though they may visit occasionally in the future, they will send ample notice of their arrival. So considerate!"

"What about their son? He seemed far more taken with the house than his father, when he wasn't ogling Miss Norrington, or teasing his sister and young Master Turner."

"He is certainly a likeable young scamp." Sera smiled. "I believe Miss Norrington returns his regard, and who can blame her? But he is not yet his father's equal, by any means. I don't know when I've met a more appealing gentleman than Captain Sparrow."

"I daresay," said Alfred, with a sigh. "He will soon have you quite spoiled for other, more ordinary male companionship."

Sera chuckled. "Now you are being absurd, my friend."

He stopped on the path and turned to her. "Am I?"

She stopped, too, and gave a little gasp of surprise as he took up her hand. "Yes," she breathed.

It was her reply to all his questions, both spoken and silent. And when he bowed and his lips just brushed her fingers, she had to close her eyes, just briefly, her heart was so full of relief and happiness.

**o-o-o**

Harry woke near dawn and it took her several moments to remember where they were.

Jack had refused to entertain the notion that they should use his father's suite of rooms, which Cousin Sera had caused to be thoroughly prepared and had shown to them so proudly. "No. Any but those," Jack had said, adamantly. "I'm sorry for your trouble, Cousin, but… no." He'd backed away and dismissed Harry, saying, "Go on, you and my cousin choose some other room for us. Or rooms. Whatever you like. But I'm done here, Will and I are going out, maybe look over the stables, the footman says there are a few horses still in residence."

Harry had shaken her head at both his obstinacy and the distress that was at its root, and had continued her tour of the house with Sera, eventually coming across this smaller suite, facing east, with its long view over the rolling ground to the edge of the estate and beyond. It had belonged to Jack's grandmother, in the final years of her life, and its furnishings were in the lighter, more feminine style that had come into fashion during the reign of Queen Anne. Harry was most taken with the colors that had been used as well, a whole palate of greens and blues that almost reminded her of the fresh vistas they'd enjoyed east of the Cape – or perhaps of their home on St. Claire. Fortunately Jack had deigned to approve when he was eventually driven back to the house by hunger and the knowledge that Alphonse was waiting to help him change for dinner.

Now Harry slipped from the warmth of their bed and padded across the thick carpet to the window, drawing aside the drape. Pale gold light poured in, and she heard a groan behind her that made her chuckle.

"Harry, what the devil? Get back here!"

She left the heavy drape cracked, for she wanted to see, and be seen, and even as she returned she began to pull loose the satin ribbons on her nightgown. She stopped just out of Jack's reach and held his eyes with her own as she drew the garment off her shoulders.

"Harry, this isn't—"

"Silence!" she said, unsmiling. She let the gown slip from her body. "It's time to make some new memories of this house. You've been brooding long enough."

"Oh, I have?" He lifted the covers for her as she stepped naked from the pool of fabric, and as she climbed in, climbed _on_, pushing him forcefully back against the pillows, he said, "Lord. You didn't think to lock the door, I suppose?"

"No," she said, leaning forward to give her words intensity - "What do I care if they observe the ways in which I can make the great Captain Jack Sparrow beg for merciful release?" – and to slip her hand under her own pillow in search of her goal: the small, elegant cut-glass vial, as yet unsealed, which she had secreted beneath her pillow the previous night. Finding it, she ignored the delightful warmth of his hands moving down her sides to her hips, sat up, and began to carefully open it.

"What's that?" Jack asked, his brows (among other things) rising.

"I find the French are particularly adept at creating aids to pleasure. This herb-infused oil is said to have some most interesting properties. I believe you'll enjoy the scent, too. There. Now lie back, and try to relax. This will take some time."

He was moved to protest. "Harry—"

She placed two fingers against his lips, and glared. "Not another word, Jack Sparrow, or I promise you will pay dearly for your temerity."

That gave him pause, but only for a moment. He gave a snort of suppressed laughter (which nearly broke her own gravity), pursed his lips, kissing her fingers, and when she took them away, defied her command. "Yes, ma'am," he purred, meekly, but quite deliberately, the burgeoning fire in his eyes assuring her of the ultimate success of her stratagem.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Twelve: Father Aloysius**_


	12. Father Aloysius

**Chapter Twelve: **_**Father Aloysius**_

Jack and his darling, wicked spouse breakfasted alone in the smaller dining room, which overlooked an informal but well-kept rose garden, for it wanted only an hour to noon when they sat down and the rest of their family and friends had long since dispersed to explore the estate or the surrounding countryside. A lengthy nap had been required by the pair to recover from exertions that were not unaccustomed but, in recent times, had rarely been quite so prolonged and exhausting. Even now, when they'd both been bathed and thoroughly groomed, and the somewhat oil-stained sheets had been stripped from the bed and taken away to be washed and hung to dry in the sun, Harry had a dreamy, cat-who'd-got-the-cream look about her, and Jack found himself grinning and chuckling at odd moments. He did so as he buttered his third slice of toast, and again, as he helped himself to another portion of ham.

Harry, pouring them each another cup of coffee, said, "What a pleasant room this is. In fact there is a great deal to be said for the whole house and staff. I find I was sadly misled before our arrival."

Jack eyed her. "My apologies. Though _you_ weren't about when I was a lad, so how was I to guess, eh?"

"Very true," she said, eyeing him right back with a satisfied air.

As she took a sip of her coffee he said in silken tones, "Careful of that smirk, love, you know how I like my revenge," and to his amusement she choked slightly. He patted her on the back. "There, there, no worries. You've the rest of the day to recruit your strength, and there's still half a vial of that oil left to ease matters."

"Evil pirate," she said, when she finally could, but she was laughing now. "How am I to manage for the rest of the day, thinking of such things? Perhaps it's as well that we go to seek guidance and confess our sins."

"Confess? Such a collection as we have between us would put the poor old friar in his grave. He's close to ninety, you know. I'll be happy if he's still able to remember anything to the point."

Jack ordered a carriage to be brought round and he and Harry drove the few miles to the village where resided Father Aloysius Meadows, the priest who was said to have served as co-officiate at the very private marriage ceremony uniting John Wainfleet and Katherine Sparrow in holy wedlock some fifty-seven years before. Cousin Sera's assertion that the local populace held the good Father in affection and respect, in spite of his being a papist, proved to be accurate, for on entering the village, Jack hailed a passing matron for directions and was not only given them with alacrity but also charged with conveying the woman's greetings to the priest and his housekeeper, Martha.

They found the cottage without much difficulty, though it was set back from the road, behind a line of trees. Jack secured their single horse, helped Harry down, and gave her his arm as they strolled up the walk to the door. He knocked, but for a long moment no one answered. After they'd glanced a question at one another, Jack was about to knock again when there were shuffling sounds, some fumbling with the lock, and the door opened to reveal the priest himself, ancient and a little bent, but surprisingly bright-eyed for all that.

"Hello?" he said, then squinted at Jack. "Do I know you?"

Jack took off his hat and cleared his throat. "I doubt you'll remember me, Father, for we only met a few times, long ago. I'm Katherine Sparrow's son."

"Jack! So those gentlemen that visited from London a few months ago were correct, you have come home!"

"In a manner of speaking," Jack admitted with some reluctance. "Allow me to introduce my wife, Henrietta."

Harry curtsied, and the old man, still squinting, said, "Charming! It is very good to meet you, my dear. But where are my manners? Come in, both of you!"

They did so, and he showed them into the parlor, which doubled as a dining room.

"I would offer you refreshment, but Martha has gone into the village and left me to my own devises—an unusual state of affairs. I _like_ to be alone occasionally, but she worries about me, you know, so it's a rare occurrence, very rare. Tea would be just the thing, and some of those little cakes she made, unless we've eaten them all. My dear," he said, to Harry hopefully, "you wouldn't be willing to investigate, and possibly make some tea for us?"

Harry chuckled. "Of course I would! I shall bring tea directly, and cakes, too, if there are any to be had."

As she bustled off to find the kitchen, Jack said, "I'm sorry we've disturbed your solitude."

"Oh, no, not at all. Your wife is a sweet child, catering to an old man's wishes. Outrageous to ask her to rummage about in that kitchen, but that's one of the advantages of growing old: one's demands might be due to failing wits rather than pure selfishness. One of the _few_ advantages, I must say. Mostly it's a tedious business, and not for the faint of heart. But sit down, sit down!"

He did so himself, in a well-worn armchair upholstered in faded green brocade. Jack turned out one of the dining room chairs and sat down facing him, but after making himself comfortable, Father Aloysius continued his rambling dialogue.

"How glad I will be if she can find some cakes. Martha would say I must not spoil my dinner by filling up on such things, but am I not master in my own house? But come, enough of my woes. How glad I am to see you again. For of course I remember you, though so many years have passed. You were something of a rascal as I recall, and the joy and grief of your mother – a lovely woman, and so kind. Such a loss to all of us when she died. You were ten, I believe?"

"Twelve," Jack said.

"Of course. And Wainfleet sent you off directly." The priest shook his head sadly. "Did you go to sea at so young an age? It must have been very hard."

Jack shrugged. "I took to it, you might say. I was only out for a year that time. Then Wainfleet recalled me, and had me apprenticed to a cartographer in Bristol. That was worse, though I learned a great deal from the old… er, gentleman. Before I ran off to sea again."

"And how old were you then?"

"Seventeen—all but a few weeks."

"And when did you take up piracy?"

"Near as soon as I reached the Caribbean. There were incidents. And circumstances. John Tobias captained the _Black Pearl_ at that time, and he was a marvel." A smile touched Jack's lips, remembering. "A good man, though I don't suppose you'd believe it."

The priest raised a brow.

Jack went on. "He taught me everything, or as near as makes no difference, and I learned quickly. Made me first, and then, when he passed… when he was killed by that_murdering_… well..." His voice trailed off.

"He was worthy of such great regard, this Captain Tobias?"

Jack looked up at the old man. "He was. I was twenty-one when he was killed, and they made me captain."

"Very young to captain a ship."

"Aye. But I held it for four years, 'til old Hector Barbossa betrayed me. Left me marooned, and though I managed to escape it was ten years before I got back my _Pearl_. My wife's niece, Elizabeth Swann, and Will Turner, the son of an old mate, helped me to do it, with some assistance from various friends. And a year later, when Elizabeth and Will were to marry, Harry – my wife, Henrietta – she came out from England for the wedding."

"And you fell in love with her."

Jack nodded, remembering. "It's a long tale, but in the end her brother, who was governor of Jamaica until just recently, arranged a pardon for all the Pearls, and a Letter of Marque for us, too, and Harry and I were wed. Twenty years we've been together now."

"And children?"

Jack beamed. "Two. Our son, Tom, nineteen, and then we were finally blessed with a girl, Marguerite Elizabeth – Daisy. She's just turned ten. They're with us, back at the Hall."

"What happiness!" the priest exclaimed. "You must bring them to see me one day. How pleased your mother would have been, had she lived."

"Aye. She'd like Tom and Daisy – Day's just like her, I think. And my Harry."

"Your Harry," said the lady herself, reentering the room carrying a laden tray, "has succeeded in making tea _and_ found the cakes!"

Father Aloysius expressed his delight, and Jack helped him up from his chair so they could all sit down together around the table.

**o-o-o**

"Now," said the priest, after he'd finished his first cup of tea and consumed several more cakes than Martha would have approved, "to what do I owe this delightful visit? Or perhaps I can guess. You wish to know the story of your mother's marriage to Wainfleet."

Jack's smile quite disappeared. "Aye. I didn't know until a week ago that they _were_ married."

"To be a practicing Catholic in this country has been difficult thing for two centuries, my son. In your father's youth – and mine—things were somewhat easier, but your grandfather, the fourth Baron Wainfleet, was from an older time, and though your father had no objection to your mother's faith, your grandfather would never have countenanced the marriage. I believed your father had cause to be concerned, and my colleague, the Reverend Woode, who served as co-officiate, agreed. We two, along with your mother's old servants, were the only witnesses to the marriage, so it was not difficult to keep it secret, even from you, for of course you had not reached an age when your discretion could be relied upon.

When your mother died untimely, we did not at first wonder at your father sending you away. We felt he had your welfare in mind, and that all would be revealed to you when he came into his inheritance, allowing you to return with safety. But it was many years before your grandfather passed, and by then you were known not only to have left England but to have taken up piracy. I am sorry to say that your father, so far from being willing to send you word of the true state of affairs, elected to look about him for a second wife, with the object of producing what he considered at that time to be a worthier heir. I was the only surviving witness to the marriage, and your father informed me that, should I have the temerity to challenge his plan, he would do what lay in his power to silence me. It was a vague threat, but I could not but take him at his word. It could have been so easily accomplished, after all, and would have affected not only myself but every soul in my parish. I felt I had no choice but to leave the matter in God's hands.

Yet the years went by, your father did not marry again, and you regained your good name. I thought my prayers had been answered, that your father had had a change of heart, and in the end that proved to be the case. But though his actions had been, for the most part, reasonable, I feel he was ashamed to own them after all that had happened. He did come here once, to apologize for his words at our previous meeting so many years before, and he told me that all was to be set aright. I took him at his word, but it was long before he fulfilled that promise. Apparently it was not many months prior to his death when he made arrangements with his solicitors in London, for they came here to speak with me not a fortnight after his passing. I told them the truth, and showed them the parish register with your parents' signatures and those of the witnesses."

There was a silence. Then Jack asked, his voice sounding harsh even to his own ears, "May I see the register?"

"Of course you may."

The old priest rose and left the room. Harry put her hand over Jack's on the table, but though he returned her clasp, he did not look at her or smile.

Presently, Father Aloysius came back with the ancient book and laid it on the table, opening it where it was marked with a ribbon.

Jack's lips moved as read those names to himself, and he ran his finger over the ink, so long dried on that yellowed page. A prayer, and a caress.

After a long moment, he looked up. "Thank you, Father."

"God be with you, my son," the old priest said. "May you serve your people well." And his rheumy eyes were bright with tears.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Thirteen: Settling In**_


	13. Settling In

**Chapter Thirteen: **_**Settling In**_

Father Aloysius's housekeeper, Martha, put in an appearance before the Sparrows left his cottage, scolding her charge for his profligate consumption of cakes as predicted and, when it was explained to her precisely who Jack and Harry were, protesting that if she'd only had an inkling they'd planned to call that day she would have had a tea fit for royalty all ready for them. "To think that your ladyship was forced to lower herself in such a way, and in a strange kitchen at that. Oh dear, oh dear." She would not be comforted, and was still shaking her head over it when they gave it up and took their leave, though not before promising to send warning before they should return to introduce Tom and Daisy to the good Father.

Harry watched Jack with a concerned eye on the way back to Fleet Hall, for she knew he had been deeply affected by the strange tale of his parents' marriage. However, he seemed cheerful enough at supper that evening, surrounded by family and friends, and took great pleasure in beating James two out of three at chess afterwards (a somewhat unusual occurrence) while the rest of the company played a lively game of Speculation, Cousin Sera having produced playing cards and a whole basket of the mother-of-pearl fishes that served as counters.

The following day, Jack and Harry took a long walk over to the far edge of the property and just beyond, to the small house where Jack had been born and raised. Sera had told them that another family, a lieutenant in the Royal Navy and his wife and three young children now inhabited the house, though she thought the gentleman was at sea just now. She proved to be in error, however. Lieutenant Barker had recently returned on leave, and answered the door himself when they knocked. As with Martha on the previous day, the lieutenant was quite bowled over by the honor of receiving one who was not only the new lord of the manor but, more importantly, one of the most famous and successful of England's privateers.

"I've heard of your exploits forever, sir!" Barker said in the friendliest manner. "Why, it was one of my reasons for choosing a naval career. And it's served me well: a month ago my ship took an enormous prize which will set us up like nabobs here, or pretty close at least."

Barker's enthusiasm was mirrored by his wife's, a lady whose fearsome skills in managing a home were much in evidence. Knowing her domain to be spotless, including her three sons' bedchamber ("…for they know what'll come to them if I find they've neglected their duty, I can tell you!"), she insisted that Jack and Harry look over the house as much as they liked, and begged they should also take their pot luck with their family, which kept naval hours when her husband was at home and so dined at two. Since the Sparrows had risen early and breakfasted with the rest of their household that morning (the previous evening's "revenge" having been postponed in favor of a brief, but very tender interlude followed by deep, peaceful sleep), Jack was feeling peckish after their walk and readily acquiesced to this scheme. He and Harry rambled all over the house for nearly an hour, pursued by the delicious scents of roasting beef and other hearty, homely dishes, and Harry encouraged her husband to share stories of his boyhood with her as they came to mind, unsettling for him, but of great benefit as well, she thought.

But the melancholic mood this exercise produced could not withstand dinner with the Barkers. The three children were at table, too, and joined their father in peppering Jack with questions about his many adventures at sea. Jack shook his head, lamenting the absence of Mr. Gibbs – "Now there's a gent as can tell a tale!" In the event, however, he had no difficulty in recalling a number of exciting and, in some cases, bloodcurdling tales of varying veracity. The little boys were spellbound, their parents hardly less so, and by the time the meal culminated with a plum-studded pudding with lemon sauce and cream, along with brandy for the gentlemen and elderberry wine for the ladies, the Barkers were ready to declare the meal and the company absolutely unparalleled in their experience.

**o-o-o**

The respect and regard for the new baron, as exemplified by the hospitality of Father Aloysius and the Barker family, proved to be the rule rather than the exception as the days passed. Jack's father had been liked well enough, but he'd certainly been dull work beside his son, whose picaresque and sometimes truly heroic life fascinated, and whose current change in fortune seemed the stuff of fairy tales. Jack was briefly startled, then amused by this acceptance, though he was secretly rather gratified. It was not something he had anticipated experiencing in visiting the home of his youth.

"Of course they love you," Harry told him. "How could they not?"

"Silly chit," he said, fondly, and kissed her.

And it was not only he and Harry who enjoyed the approbation of the populace, but their entire party of family and friends. That very first week they were all invited to attend an assembly hosted by the mayor of the nearby town of Spilby, and though Daisy and young Will stayed behind at Fleet Hall in the charge of Alphonse and Amelie, the rest, including Cousin Sera and Alfred Locke, drove off in a big open carriage, the weather being warm and dry and the green, rolling hills quite lovely. They were not sure what to expect when they arrived, but the locals' awestruck bows and curtsies soon gave way to music and dancing punctuated with a great deal of friendly conversation and laughter.

Tom and Anne were much in demand as dance partners that evening, but contrived to take to the floor together more often than was perhaps proper in a couple who were merely good friends. A great deal of the easy camaraderie the two had enjoyed of old had returned over the course of the week and was now strengthened by an informal alliance. They found themselves catching each others' eyes at various times in silent communication: amusement at some jest, or admiration for a particularly fine dress, or merely enjoyment of their parents' or friends' dancing. And when Anne grew tired or thirsty, Tom was there by her side, waving away other young men with a proprietary air and providing her with company while she sipped a cup of punch.

The gaity of the company and the wonderful music so enthralled their party that, when it was over, they sang nearly the whole way back to Fleet Hall, song after song that they knew and loved. It was an hour before dawn when they reached home again, but everyone agreed it had been a truly charming evening as they went off to bed.

Invitations began to arrive in abundance after that, every family in the vicinity vying for the privilege of entertaining some or all of them. There were picnics, an impromptu dance practice one rainy afternoon, expeditions on horseback to visit the local sights, card parties, even a Venetian breakfast at the home of one pretender to fashion, and they could have dined away from the Hall every evening of the week if they'd wished.

Yet most of the time they preferred convivial evenings at Fleet Hall, occasionally inviting neighbors, but for the most part content to keep to themselves. Anatole and Louise were most impressed with the variety and quality of goods available at the local markets, and their creations were so irresistible that the Turners and Norringtons demanded to know how Jack and Harry had managed to keep their figures all these years. Dinner was inevitably followed by cards or other games, or music (Anne had a pretty voice, and Harry had now grown so proficient on the harpsichord and the pianoforte that Jack had left off teasing her, most of the time), or a reading from Fielding's new novel, _The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling_.

Daisy and young Will didn't lack for entertainment either, though their activities were confined to earlier hours and generally didn't range far afield. They liked each other very well, though their differing personalities inspired occasional conflict. The most serious instance was toward the end of their second week at Fleet Hall, on a day when Harry, Elizabeth and Maggie had gone off to Lincoln on a shopping and sightseeing expedition, with Admiral James along to serve as protector. Will senior was helping Jack go through a pile of old documents, which they'd spread out on the table in the smaller dining room as Jack couldn't abide the book-lined study that long ago had served as the venue of several extremely painful post-transgression encounters with his father, and Anne and Tom were just coming in from a morning's ride with a group of young friends, when a shrieking and a great deal of shouting came from the direction of the wilderness that lay beyond the rose garden. The tone of the noise alerted them to the serious nature of the situation, and the four were on their way out the French doors to investigate when the Barker lads and another neighbor, a plump little girl named Kitty Chandler, all burst from the distant trees and came pelting hell-for-leather up the neat gravel walk.

"Daisy's killed!"

"Oh, sir! Come at once, there's blood everywhere!"

"It's Wilby! He's cut her to bits!"

"Oh! Oh dear! Oh dear!"

Jack, electrified, lit out running, closely followed by Tom and Will, with Anne, hampered by her skirts, bringing up the rear.

As Jack had hoped, the situation was not quite as dreadful as the children had implied, though it was certainly bad enough. A few feet from where two hastily discarded old-fashioned dress swords lay on the grass, Daisy was sitting, scared and pale, while William Weatherby frantically endeavored to staunch the flow of blood from a deep cut on her inner arm, in spite of the inadequacy of his handkerchief. As the elder Master Barker had indicated, blood was everywhere—or at least all over the front and side of Daisy's pretty new muslin frock as it was dripping steadily from her elbow.

Wilby backed away precipitately when Jack, growling profanities, dropped to his knees beside his daughter. The boy blurted, "I didn't mean to do it, we were playing! I mean—"

"_Playing?_With these?" Will picked up the swords, one of which was stained with gore. "Haven't you learned _anything_ from me?"

Daisy said in a shaky but determined voice, "I found them in the attic and challenged him to a duel. It was all my idea to – _ow!_"

"Silence, brat," said Jack, grimly. He was using his own much larger handkerchief to wipe away the blood and assess the wound. Daisy closed her lips firmly and watched for a moment, then turned her head away with a hiss of pain, tears starting.

Tom was crouched beside his father and winced in sympathy. "Lord, I'm glad mother's away. Shall I ride for the doctor, that one we had dinner with last week, Fitzsimmons, over by Bolingbroke?"

"Aye, go." There was an edge to Jack's voice as he said to Daisy, "It'll have to be cleaned and stitched up, love, nothing for it. Gets you out of that thrashing you deserve, though, eh?" Tom was already running off, shooing the Barkers and Miss Chandler before him, and Jack turned to Will, whose expression and grip on his son's arm boded ill for Daisy's hapless minion. In an effort to placate Will's wrath, Jack said, "She'll do. And it was her idea."

But the boy cried, "Was _not!_It was—"

"Let's go," Will snapped, having seen and heard enough.

As William Weatherby was marched off toward the house, Daisy grabbed at her father's sleeve. "Papa, can't you do something?" she begged, her voice breaking. "It was _my_fault!"

"I don't doubt it, but there's naught to be done for him, now. Best recruit your own fortitude, love, you're going to need it."

**o-o-o**

In the event, it was Jack's fortitude that failed.

Tom, riding through Mavis Enderby, had recognized Dr. Fitzsimmons' gig tied up in front of the Golden Lion Inn, where the man had been enjoying a late breakfast after attending the birth of the local cleric's son, an uncomplicated though distressingly lengthy proceeding. Tom persuaded Fitzsimmons to gulp his coffee and leave the rest of his meal half finished in order to proceed directly to Fleet Hall. On examining Daisy's wound, the doctor was most encouraging, telling Jack she would "heal like a young dog", and assuring them all that there would barely be a scar as he was known far and wide for his skill with a needle. He dosed Daisy with laudanum, which began to make her drowsy but not entirely oblivious to what was going forth. The mere cleaning of the wound tried both her and her father sorely, and then Fitzsimmons began to lay out his needles and other paraphernalia. The blood drained from Jack's face.

Tom saw and said gently, "Da, let me and Annie have her. She'll be all right with us, and you'll be better for a tot of rum, eh?"

Jack only nodded, and passed his beloved burden over to his son. He'd been through too much himself over the years not to be excruciatingly aware of what was in store for his darling, and though he could endure his own pain in stoic silence, to watch her writhe under the prick of the needle was more than he could bear.

Tom found both Jack and Will in the drawing room afterwards, commiserating with each other over a bottle of St. Claire's finest rum, Jack's father having fortuitously laid in several cases of this excellent and well-remembered libation some time before his passing. Tom told them, "It wasn't so bad, once the laudanum took hold, and the doctor's left more in case she has much pain later. He says he'll be back to check on her tomorrow. Anne's with her now."

"Thanks, Tom." Jack nodded heavily, then shook a finger at his son. "Just you wait. Someday _you'll_ have one. Then you'll know." He reached over and patted Will's hand, but Will only sighed and took another sip of his drink.

**o-o-o**

It was either very late or very early when Harry woke to blackness and Jack's low but persistent snoring. She shoved at his shoulder a bit and was successful in encouraging him to turn onto his side. Yet sleep remained elusive, for now that she was awake, the tale of the infamous "duel" and its painful aftermath once again reared its head. She could just hear her brother now: _Trust a Sparrow to lead my innocent grandson astray!_William Weatherby's behavior and the subsequent consequences he had suffered were apparently unprecedented in the poor boy's experience, to judge from Will's bleak demeanor and Elizabeth's set expression as she'd hurried up the stairs to see her son.

And then there was Daisy. The pretty face had been pale and still against the pillows, when Harry had finally seen her – long after dark as the three ladies and their swain had been delayed in starting back from Lincoln and had elected to break their journey at a post-house famous for the excellence of its dinners. Daisy had been deep asleep, the result of the physick Jack had tipped down her throat at bedtime, overriding her tearful objections when he'd seen the signs of inflammation along the line of neat stitches – not excessive, he'd assured Harry, and certainly he should know. But Harry could not help worrying, and wondering: did her naughty, darling girl still sleep, or were her cheeks now flushed with fever and distress in this dark hour before dawn?

Jack barely stirred when Harry slipped from the bed to don her dressing gown and slippers, nor when the bedroom door creaked slightly as she left the room.

To her surprise and pleasure, she met Anne coming down the hall from the other direction.

"Were you worried, too, ma'am?" Anne whispered.

"Yes, the effects of the laudanum may be fading by now. Come, we'll go together and see."

But when they quietly entered the room, the small lamp that had been left aglow revealed that Daisy was not in the bed – or anywhere in the room!

"Where could she be?" Harry asked, dismayed.

"I wonder…" Anne said, and led Harry out again and down the shadowed hall.

The door to William Weatherby's room was ajar, and when they pushed it open the faint light revealed the two forms. The boy was sprawled face down on the bed, sound asleep, and Daisy was dozing, too, sitting on the floor next to him, curled against the bed, her left hand clasping his, her bandaged right arm propped on a cushioned chair she'd dragged over for the purpose.

Anne whispered, "I visited Tom in similar circumstances, you see. When we were in Barbados that time."

Harry smiled. "That was kind of you."

But Anne shook her head. "I loved him," she said, simply. "I always did."

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Fourteen: The Christiana**_


	14. The Christiana

**Chapter Fourteen: **_**The Christiana**_

"This is an excellent example of the way in which the strange glamour of rogues and rakes will attract more civilized folk like moths to the flame," Maggie observed drily as she, along with Harry, Elizabeth and Anne, sipped tea on the veranda and watched the crowd of children playing cricket on the lawn. Daisy's injured arm was confined to a sling to prevent reinjury, making her an object of interest, admiration, and sympathy, but she was nevertheless busy bouncing, calling out directions, and cheering madly as William Weatherby, whose astonishing daring and fortitude were highly esteemed by every boy in the neighborhood, thanks to the Barker brothers' and Kitty Chandler's tattling tongues, scored a famous hit.

"Are you calling my son a rogue?" Elizabeth demanded, pretending outrage.

"If the shoe fits," Maggie said, looking down her nose and successfully wrestling the smile from her lips. "My own children, of course, were paragons of deportment at every stage."

Elizabeth and Harry both burst out laughing at this, as did one of the paragons herself.

Anne said, "Oh, Mother! _What_ an untruth!"

Maggie chuckled. "My memory isn't quite what it should be, perhaps."

"It's exactly what it should be," Harry said. "There is no profit in dredging up the peccadilloes of the past, save perhaps as a source of amusement. My brother, of course, would have a different view of the matter. Perhaps we need not mention his niece and grandson's lapse in judgment."

"I've told William Weatherby there is no need to share _everything_ with his grandfather, but Daisy's injury can't really be hidden," Elizabeth pointed out.

"But it can!" said Harry. "We still have until the end of next week, and it looks much better already. The doctor says he'll remove the stitches on Saturday, and she must continue to wear the sling for another few days after that, but I believe her sleeves will be long enough to cover the smaller bandage that will remain until it is quite healed."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I'll wager anything you like that my father will ask questions within ten minutes."

"A new hat from Grimble's and done!" Harry declared.

"Grimble's!" Maggie exclaimed. "Her creations are wonderful, certainly, but very expensive. Have a care, Elizabeth. Harry's not above cheating you know."

"Thank you for the warning, but I'm well aware of that," said Elizabeth. She raised a brow at her aunt's indignation. "_Pirate_?"

"Well, yes. But not in this case. And just look at Jack! Why, he is actually considering buying that yacht they've gone to see."

"Rather than arranging a cutting-out expedition?" Maggie smiled. "James would have liked that, I think. I believe he misses active service, though he never says it."

Harry nodded. "He and Jack are cut from the same cloth, in many ways. I do hope the yacht pleases Jack as much as he had hoped. It is doubly fortunate that it came on the market just at this time, for he needed something to distract him after Daisy's mishap. They will all have such a grand time taking that pretty vessel out today!"

**o-o-o**

They were having a grand time, Jack and James, and Will, Tom, and Mr. Gibbs, too, for the _Black Pearl_ was anchored just a few hundred yards from where the _Christiana_, a Dutch-built statenjaght, was tied up and ready for inspection.

Tom laughed aloud when they got close enough to really see her, and Jack's eyes took on an avaricious gleam. The little ship was incredibly ornate, her bright blue hull ornamented with scrollwork and wonderful carvings bright with gold leaf. Red rails, and white frames on the gallery windows were also in evidence, and her decks were absolutely pristine. She was wide in the beam, like any Dutch ship, and fairly shallow in draft, so much so that an adjustable keel (adorned with a bare-breasted mermaid, painted in the classic manner) was used to prevent her from drifting, but the broker vowed she was fast and weatherly, perfect for pleasurable coastal sailing, yet able to cross an open ocean with perfect equanimity.

But when he led them below they were even more impressed. There was storage, a compact but well-equipped galley, and a comfortable area for the crew that was lit by a 'lantern', a construction with windows that was built on the deck above to bring in daylight – a most unusual luxury on a ship. Then, in the stern, there was the master's quarters, actually a whole set of rooms on two levels. There was a good-sized, elegantly furnished salon with a prettily painted hearth and cupboard seating that could be converted to curtained guest beds; then, up a spiral staircase, there was a handsomely furnished bedchamber with quarter-galleries on either side, one affording seclusion for the use of the elegant close-stool, the other equipped with finely crafted drawers and cupboards for clothing and personal items.

"Lord, wouldn't Harry love this," Jack muttered, running his hand across the soft velvet coverlet that graced the bed.

"I've never seen anything like it!" Tom exclaimed.

James nodded. "Oh, yes. The Dutch began making these about a hundred years ago, for their aristocrats, and the great men of the VOC. Charles II was given one as a gift on his restoration, if I recall my history correctly."

"They've certainly brought their craft to perfection," Will said. "She's a lovely ship, Jack. Are we going to take her out?"

"Just what I was about to ask," said Mr. Gibbs with a smile.

The _Christiana_ had a single tall mast, gaff-rigged with a staysail for a jib, and was further enhanced by a square red topsail for use when the wind was just right – "As it is now," said the broker. "A crew of seven or so is adequate, but she can easily house thirty, if the need arises."

They were out on her for more than four hours, for Jack quite naturally wanted her proven seaworthy before expending the not-inconsiderable sum the owner was asking. A caretaker, his wife, and two other seamen had been living on the yacht, and these, along with the broker and Jack's friends and relations, made an adequate crew for him. Admiral James stepped into the role of Able Seaman with remarkable ease. Will showed that he had not forgotten the skills Jack had taught him long ago. And Tom reveled in the simple but strenuous tasks required in sailing the little ship, trying to keep his enthusiasm at bay even as the fresh sea air and the wind in his face prodded his hopes and made him want shout for joy.

But when they brought the _Christiana_ back in and tied her to the dock, and Jack announced that he would certainly buy her as a most worthy consort for his darling _Pearl_, Tom slipped away, back into the privacy of the master's cabin and threw himself on the wide bed, smothering a shout of triumph. The moment he'd laid eyes on this bed he'd seen Annie adorning it, seen her golden hair, the delicate, untouched pink and white of her skin, the curves of her slim figure: all for him, bare against the blue velvet coverlet. For several minutes, while the others assisted his father in negotiating the purchase, Tom allowed his mind to dwell on that delicious scene, itemizing in detail the things he and his Anne would do, their explorations, the delights he would show her. He vowed then and there she would never regret marrying him, he would care for her always, like the treasure she was.

They were friends again, but there was still a distance between them, a coolness, and he knew she would say him nay if he told her she must throw over the earl. It was that bloody aunt of hers. The woman had had far too much influence in recent years. Anne seemed convinced that even an unofficial promise of marriage was a fine point of honor and that breaking that promise would bring shame upon the whole Norrington family.

Tom turned over onto his back and stared up at the neat plank ceiling above him. That he must force the issue he knew very well, he'd become reconciled to that. And there wasn't much time left. A week and a half and they'd be heading back to London to announce her engagement to Hartfield. But the way was clear to him at last.

His grin could not be suppressed, thinking about it. Stealing her away, having her all to himself, here, in this cabin. He had friends among the Pearls who would help him. He'd get a couple of them assigned to watching the _Christiana_, and the rest could come aboard when he brought Annie down from Fleet Hall. A bit of that physick the doctor had left for Daisy would ensure Anne's initial cooperation, and after they were away at sea for a couple of nights, her virtue would be thoroughly compromised whether he touched her or not (and it would likely be _not_, of course, until they were safely wed). Oh, she'd be upset, no doubt, but he had faith in his ability to talk her around, to sooth her fears and explain that he'd had no choice in the matter. That it was for the best. That it was impossible for him to stand by and watch her marry another. That he'd wanted her even before he'd known what the words _love and cherish_ meant.

There might be hell to pay in some quarters – her father, for example. But it would be worth it. Anne Norrington was _his_, and his alone. Just as he was hers.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Fifteen: Abducted**_


	15. Abducted

**Chapter Fifteen: **_**Abducted**_

A few days before they were to go back to London, Jack determined that he would be obliged to travel to Lincoln on business connected with the estate, a tiresome burden save that Harry suggested they all go with him.

"_More_ shopping?" he teased.

"Yes, but it's a lovely town, too, with many things to see. The cathedral is a particularly fine example of Gothic architecture, and there is a famous garden where one can take tea when the weather permits."

"Tea. And a cathedral." Jack looked Harry over with a raised brow. "You know, I was under the impression that we'd met before, but clearly I was mistaken. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm your husband, Jack."

Harry chuckled and kissed him.

Jack suffered the kiss, but added, "Ain't you forgetting what happened last time you went?"

"I am certainly not," Harry replied, "but there will be no difficulty: the children shall go with us this time."

On the appointed day, however, two of their number begged leave to stay behind: Anne, pleading the headache ("That time of the month," Maggie confided to Harry); and Tom, who offered to forego the expedition in order to ride down to Boston and make certain the _Black Pearl_ and the _Christiana_ would be well-stocked and titivated for the journey south, three days hence.

Tom said, in a tone of self-sacrifice, "I'll make sure I'm back to bear Anne company at dinner, too, since Cousin Sera goes with you to Lincoln."

"Very thoughtful," Maggie said, her eyes twinkling.

"It is," Harry agreed, and smiled wistfully, for it seemed to her that time was running out for Tom and Anne.

But Tom kissed her cheek and said, "Don't worry, Mother. It'll all come right."

He flashed her a sly grin and a wink, looking so much like his father in that moment that later she knew she should have taken it as a warning.

**o-o-o**

The distance to Lincoln, and the city's many diversions, made the outing a lengthy affair, and once again they stopped for dinner on the way back. It was after ten when they returned to Fleet Hall, though this was not so late that Tom and Anne should have retired to bed, and they were therefore surprised to find themselves greeted instead by the footman, Blake, his expression grave, and then by Harry's dresser, Amelie, and her sister, the culinary genius Louise. They came bustling down the lamp lit steps, and Louise was forcibly towing a terrified young maid in her wake. Alfonse and Anatole followed, both of them looking concerned.

Jack frowned. "What's all th—"

But Louise cut him off. "_Capitaine!_Neither your son nor Admiral Norrington's daughter are here, nor did they come for dinner at the appointed hour. But this, this _trollop_ was heard boasting to her fellows that she knew what was afoot! _Voyons_, if you will only allow me to _beat_ her like the miserable worm she is!" Louise gave the girl a shake, eyes blazing.

The girl yelped and implored Harry, "Please ma'am, I didn't know they wasn't coming back! And Master Tom told me he wouldn't hurt Miss, not for any money."

"What's this?" Norrington said sharply, getting out of the carriage.

"What's happened?" Maggie demanded, for this was the maid who had been assigned to serve Anne these last weeks.

Harry said to the maid, "Madame Guerinot will release you, but you will tell us immediately what all this is about."

The girl wept a little, but nodded.

Louise complied, but kept her eyes on the maid, her hand ready to grab an arm again should the girl make a false move.

"Now, Constance," said Harry outwardly severe, though inwardly she was quailing, Oh, Tom! "What do you know of this?"

"It was a note, ma'am. Master Tom asked me to give it to Miss just at four o'clock, and to… to help her leave the house unnoticed. He said it was a surprise, and that she'd like it! On my honor! That's what he said!"

"And what was this surprise? Do you know?" Maggie asked.

"N-not precisely. But I've a friend who works at the Golden Lion in Mavis Enderby and she told me this morning that Master Tom had been in yesterday, ordering up a private room with supper to be served, and victuals of the finest."

Admiral Norrington raised a brow. "Irregular, but—"

"But they're not back?" Maggie frowned.

"No, Madame," said Alphonse, coming forward. "It is that which concerns us, though until a few minutes ago we had no idea where to begin looking for them."

"Then you've not sent to the Golden Lion as yet?" Elizabeth asked, and immediately turned to Harry. "Will and I can stay here with Daisy and William Weatherby, you take the carriage to the Golden Lion."

"Yes," Harry agreed, and rather reluctantly met Jack's eyes.

As she feared, he was watching her narrowly. "Did you know anything of this?"

"No! That is, not precisely."

Maggie said, to Jack and her own husband, "Harry and I had hoped… and perhaps encouraged Tom to talk to Anne. He loves her, James, and I know she loves him, too."

"So you knew of this clandestine assignation?"

"No!" both ladies said, in unison.

Their husbands exchanged a glance.

Then Jack reached out and took Harry by the arm, saying, "Right, we can discuss this further in the carriage."

"Indeed," James said, coolly, his hand at Maggie's back. He said over his shoulder to Will and Elizabeth, "See what you can do to prevent further talk among the servants – though it's probably far too late already."

**o-o-o**

Mrs. Brown, the owner of the Golden Lion, was already in her nightdress when she opened the door, but when she heard what Jack had to say she was completely dismayed.

"You mean they didn't go home? With the young lady taken so ill when they was half way through supper?"

"Ill?" Maggie exclaimed.

"What do you mean, ill?" Harry demanded, her heart sinking still further.

Mrs. Brown shook her head. "Master Tom assured me she was just feeling a bit faint, but he had to carry her out to the carriage for all that. I made sure she would have been in her bed these four hours and more by now."

"James!" Maggie said, turning to her husband in her distress.

And Harry turned to her husband. "Jack, Tom wouldn't hurt her! He _wouldn't!_"

"No," said Jack, but he looked worried nonetheless. He said to Mrs. Brown, "Can I get a horse from you?"

James asked him sharply, "Where do think they've gone?"

"Boston." Jack met his friend's eye.

And James's brows rose. "My God. The _Christiana_. And that _bed!_"

Maggie frowned, and Harry demanded, "Bed? What bed?"

Jack gave a mirthless laugh. "I meant it for a surprise – but not like this. Bloody hell." He looked at James and said, "He _wouldn't_, not without she was full willing. You know that!"

James looked ready to do a murder, but did not reply to Jack. Instead he turned to the innkeeper. "Mrs. Brown, can you spare a horse?"

"Two," put in Jack.

"Yes, two," James agreed, and turned to his wife. "Margaret, you and Harry will return to Fleet Hall for our things and Anne's, and will put up at the Crown at the Boston waterfront if the _Black Pearl_ and the _Christiana_ are both gone when you arrive."

Mrs. Brown said, "I've two good 'uns out in the stable, they'll get you to Boston in no time, if that's where you think they've gone. Oh dear, if I've helped your pretty daughter to ruination I'll never forgive myself! Master Tom assured me you knew about it or I never would have countenanced such goings on in my house, not for any money. And the sun hadn't set when he carried her out, there were half a dozen or so that were looking on and a couple of those less discrete than one might prefer."

"I suppose it'll be all over the county by tomorrow," Jack muttered. He said to James, wryly, "So much for your earl, maybe."

"Hartfield!" James said, dismissively. "Anne is our concern. If that miscreant boy of yours has harmed my daughter in any way—"

"James, I'll have the skin off his back if he has," asserted Jack, "and _then_ you can kill him.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Sixteen: Confrontation**_


	16. Confrontation

**Chapter Sixteen: **_**Confrontation**_

Anne struggled up from the depths of her drugged sleep, grimacing at the taste still lingering in her mouth.

Laudanum.

How she had forgotten the flavor of it she couldn't imagine, it was so horridly distinctive. But she had rarely been dosed with it, and she never would have imagined that Tom would serve her such a trick, slipping it into that punch he'd made for her.

Punch, and dinner by candlelight in that private chamber at the Golden Lion. What did it matter that she had thought it a dear gesture, a farewell of sorts? That she had acquiesced to such a clandestine and extremely improper scheme told her precisely what sort of woman she was. It was no more than her just desserts that she had been kidnapped by an unscrupulous pirate.

He deserved to be flogged. And probably would be, once her father caught up with them. Flogged, or worse.

Oh, Tom!

Her fingers curled, then clenched on velvet, and she set her teeth and opened her eyes. There was a small, elegant hanging lamp lighting the cabin, swinging with the motion of this vessel – not the _Pearl_ - and for a moment the shadows swayed sickeningly.

She squeezed her eyes closed again and fought her nausea, and to her relief she gradually won, though the motion and the sound of the sea still filled her senses. But she had always been a good sailor; it was only the drug that had made her feel queasy.

She remembered all too well, saw Tom's face in her mind's eye, the way his odious satisfaction had turned to dismay when he realized that she had been more strongly affected than he'd apparently planned.

"Tom, what have you done?" she'd asked him, just before her knees gave way.

He'd caught her, though, and had half carried her to lie upon the settee by the fireplace.

"Annie, listen, it'll be all right. I had to do it, don't you see? I _can't_ let you marry Hartfield."

"Tom, no… not this way…" But he hadn't stayed to listen, and she'd drifted off, waking only once more, when he'd laid her down in the carriage. She hadn't been able to speak then, but he'd kissed her forehead and whispered, "It'll be all right. You'll see, love."

_Oh, Tom_.

But as minutes passed and the effects of the drug faded, her distress began to turn to anger. What did he think he was doing? They weren't children any longer. The repercussions of such a scandal would hurt everyone involved, everyone she loved. Including him!

The sound of footsteps brought her suddenly alert, and she opened her eyes again, just in time to see the cabin door open and a face peek in – not Tom's! She gasped, but before she could react further the startled face disappeared and the door was jerked firmly shut.

"_Captain! Captain!_" yelled the retreating lad, whom she'd recognized as one of the _Black Pearl_'s younger crewmembers.

She struggled up and off the bed, her head still swimmy, and looking about she realized what ship this must be: the _Christiana_! She had only half believed the descriptions of the interior, but now she saw that words barely did it justice. Everything of the finest, materials, craftsmanship, and appointments, the prettiest cabin she'd ever seen. And the bed: carved, gilded, and painted with an absolute orgy of mythological figures, from small winged cupids, satyrs and nymphs, to a beautifully rendered and very suggestive depiction of Venus taming her Mars on the headboard, and the bedding itself all sky blue velvet and white satin.

_Just the thing for ravishing a maid!_

She could imagine Tom's rakish smile, hear his voice. Hot color stained her cheeks, cleared her head. Anger at his stupidity and presumption swept through her like a tide, and her eyes narrowed when she heard his familiar booted steps approaching from without. Swiftly she grabbed up the first things that came to hand – a silver flask from the nightstand, and a hairbrush off the vanity – and when he opened the door, she set her teeth and threw them, one after the other, as hard as she could.

He flinched, eyes widening, as the flask crashed against the bulkhead beside him, and then the handle of the hairbrush just grazed his forehead. "_Ow!_"

"_You bloody fool!_" Anne roared, above all furious that he had made her hurt him. As he slammed the door she grabbed up a pillow, the only other loose item she could get to in time. But he was fast, and he was on her, violently seizing the pillow as she tried to hit him with it, tossing it aside, and then grunting as her closed fist caught the side of his face. Unfortunately, the sound and feel of hitting him so horrified her that she hesitated for a fatal half second, and then he had her, gripping her wrists with terrible speed, and she gave a frightened yelp as she was thrown backwards onto that cloud of a bed, Tom landing atop her, pinning her with the length of his body, his eyes blazing.

It was then that she noticed he was soaked through. "You're all wet!" she squealed, anger reasserting itself, and she struggled madly, trying to bring her knee up hard between his legs.

But he countered the move and leaned in, his hands squeezing her wrists. "Oh, no you bloody will not! And who taught the prim and proper Miss Norrington _that_ I wonder?"

"Julietta told me, and how _dare_ you call me that, you odious _beast!_Let me go this instant!"

"Not 'til you settle and see reason."

"_Reason?_When you've ruined me? And ruined yourself into the bargain?"

"Have not. Just saving you from yourself, is all. _Hartfield_. How on earth you even thought of marrying such a…"

"Gentleman?" she supplied, acidly.

His lip curled. "Gentleman? What about Vauxhall?"

Vauxhall. The scene came rushing back: Hartfield's insistent advances; that horrid kiss; her panicked response. Then Tom tearing the earl away from her, the wide eyes of the two girls Tom had been with taking in the whole.

Anne stared at Tom. Her friend. And yes, her _love_. She swallowed hard, trying not to cry, and said in a tight little voice, "Please let me up."

"Only if you promise not to hit me again." But as he eased his position, he let go of her wrists.

She reached up. He shied slightly, but then stilled and allowed her to gently touch the side of his face where it was a mottled red, and would soon be bruised. "I'm sorry I hit you."

"Annie," he said, unsteadily. "I _love_ you."

She gaped. "You… but why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"I would have—"

"And what about all those other girls?"

"At Vauxhall? Anne, they were _nothing!_"

"They were _not_ nothing!" Anne's voice shook. "They were _not_, and I… that's why I went with Hartfield to the Druid's Walk."

"You were jealous?"

She felt herself flushing again. "How was I to know? You never… why did you never write to me?"

"Because I'm a fool."

And she laughed, but then sobered and said, "Tom, I thought you had forgotten me."

"Never," he said, and brushed some strands of her hair from her cheek, and kissed her there.

She closed her eyes, but only briefly. Her eyes were wide open when she turned her head on the pillow and took hold of him. Her breath hitched at the first touch of his lips on hers, and then she was lost, quite lost. Her arms slipped about him, damp, solid, beloved. How this kiss – _his_ kiss – could be so different… but it was, it was… _Tom_… her friend, her love… his strength and passion veiled by a tenderness that told her the truth of the matter more clearly than any words.

He had to end it finally, rolling them onto their sides. "Lord!" he said, chuckling, breathless, a pulse in his neck visible.

She was very pleased that he was so affected, but she did not smile as she reached up to caress his bruised cheek again. "Tom, what are we going to do?"

"Marry. Just as I told you all those years ago. We'll marry, and Hartfield may go to the devil. You love me, too, don't you?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I've _always_ loved you!"

He had to kiss her once more for that, but when she could finally speak again she repeated the question. "Tom, what are we going to _do?_"

But even as he grinned and said eagerly, "I have it all arranged—", a cry, faint but clear, rang out—_Sail Ho!_—and there were the sounds of running feet on deck, and then the sound of cannon fire, a single shot.

With an oath, Tom swung around and was off the bed, striding to the door, opening it just enough to converse with the crewmember that brought the message, though Anne could hear the words plain enough.

"It's the _Pearl_, Tom. She came out of that fog before we even knew what was happening and fired across our bow."

"God's teeth. How did my… well, no matter, now. The game's up. Bring her around and luff the sails, Reed. We'll be on deck in a trice."

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Seventeen: Deus ex Machina**_


	17. Deus ex Machina

**Chapter Seventeen: **_**Deus ex Machina**_

Anne shivered in the chill air, standing close beside Tom at the bow of the _Christiana_, both of them watching as the _Black Pearl_ glided toward their much smaller vessel. Anne had never considered the _Pearl_ anything but Tom's home and the site and source of grand adventures, but now she could well imagine the victims of the pirate ship quailing in fear. Indeed, Anne was trying not to quail herself, just now.

Tom slipped an arm about her shoulders and gave her a warm squeeze. "I was sure that storm had got us clean away, but apparently it speeded the _Pearl_ along as well. Though how he knew our course… unless it was that damned compass."

"Compass? The one that points to the Isla de Muerta?"

"Aye, but it doesn't always, is the thing. I'll have to tell you about it – but later. There they are."

"My father… and yours," said Anne. Tom did not reply and she looked up at him. "Aren't you going to tell me it'll be all right?"

He met her eyes. "It will. I hope. In the end."

**o-o-o**

It did not, at first, seem as if Tom's hope would be borne out.

The _Pearl_ slipped alongside the _Christiana_ amid sharp orders, thrown lines, and carefully placed fenders, Captain Sparrow's roar of _Mind the bloody paintwork, blast you all!_inspiring both Pearls and Christianas to take extraordinary care in tying the ships together. This was only feasible at all as the sea, so turbulent with the night's storm, had smoothed remarkably with the coming of the foggy gray dawn.

Anne gave a tentative wave to her stone-faced father and he called, "Are you all right?" She cleared her throat and shouted back, "Yes!"

And then a number of Pearls were swarming down to take charge of the _Christiana_, including Mr. Gibbs.

"Gettin' too old for this," Gibbs muttered as he straightened and looked around, grimly. He said in official tones, "Christianas will report immediately to the _Pearl_'s brig!" then added, "All except you, Tom. Your father wants to see you first. You're well, Miss Anne?"

Anne nodded, biting her lip.

A bosun's chair wafted Anne up to the _Pearl_'s deck where her father was waiting. Tears came to her eyes, tears that unfortunately were misinterpreted.

"Anne, he's not hurt you?" her father demanded, taking her shoulders. And then, "How is it you're so damp?" He released her and parted the front of the cloak she'd thrown on over her clothing before coming on deck. The whole front of her gown was wrinkled and stained with sea water, and when Tom gained the deck just at that moment, drier than he had been but still bearing evidence of the soaking the night's storm had given him, her father – and _his_, as Captain Sparrow was approaching – naturally came to the wrong conclusion.

Captain Sparrow scowled and stepped up to his son, raising a hand. Tom visibly steeled himself, but the beringed fingers only caught his chin and turned it, the better to see the ugly bruise where Anne's fist had struck, and the graze on his forehead from the brush she'd thrown. "Felt the need to fight you off, did she?"

"It wasn't like that," Anne said, desperately.

Captain Sparrow ignored her, eyeing his son with every evidence of distaste. "What the deuce you were _thinking_—"

"I _love_ her," Tom said.

Anne's father said, in a voice cold with anger, "One does not incapacitate and kidnap for love."

Anne said, quickly, "It was only a bit of that laudanum the doctor left—_Father!_"

For her father had grabbed Tom by the front of his wet coat, Captain Sparrow made no move to intervene, and Tom, though wide-eyed, did not defend himself.

But Anne's father had done no more than give Tom a single rough shake when an urgent call sounded from the _Pearl_'s lookout far above, "_Sail Ho! Captain, she's afire!_"

"_What?_" Captain Sparrow whirled toward the _Christiana_, but the yacht was still safely tied alongside the _Pearl_. The captain swore, incensed, then yelled, "_Who's afire? Where away?_"

"_She's in and out of the fog, about a half mile, three points off the starboard bow!_"

Captain Jack drew his spyglass from his pocket as he stepped to the rail, followed by Anne's father and Tom, too, their discord set aside for the moment, to Anne's immense relief.

Tom immediately took out his own spyglass, and for a moment son and father stood side-by-side, scanning the foggy horizon. Then Tom exclaimed, "I have her! A merchantman… Lord, they'll never put it out like that, what the devil are they doing?"

"Damnation," said Captain Sparrow, "they're running about like a pack of Bedlamites." He turned to Anne abruptly and fixed her with a penetrating eye. "You're sure you're all right?"

"Yes," she said, firmly. "And I'm going to marry your son."

Captain Sparrow gave a bark of laughter. "Are you, begad?"

"That remains to be seen," her father said, with a glare at Tom, who had turned, a joyous expression dawning.

"You can deal with Tom later, James," Captain Sparrow said. "We've other fish to fry at present."

"So it seems. But the wind's dropped to almost nothing. Sweeps?"

"Da, let me take the _Christiana_," said Tom, eagerly. "She's a cockleshell to the _Pearl_, and bloody marvelous in light airs. You can follow with the sweeps."

Captain Sparrow suddenly grinned at his son. "She's a sweet little craft, ain't she? How'd she do in that storm?"

"Took the waves easy as kiss my hand!" Tom said with enthusiasm. "You got your money's worth, no worries."

"I believe I did," Jack agreed. "Aye, take her – though don't expect me to make her a wedding gift." He strode off, shouting orders to his men.

Tom and Anne's father were swiftly joined by some others in untying the _Christiana_, and then Tom stepped over to Anne and kissed her.

"Be careful," she told him.

"I will," he assured her. He flashed a smile, and then he was off, grabbing a line and swinging down to the deck of the yacht. Anne watched him take command, Mr. Gibbs frowning briefly, but then following Tom's orders, just as he did Captain Sparrow's. The big fore-and-aft sails rose and rose and then caught the faint breeze. Anne waved as the_Christiana_ veered away, aware of the scurry of Pearls behind her, but her heart entirely with Tom.

Anne's father was still standing beside her. "This is your choice?" he asked her. "In spite of what he did?"

Anne looked up at him. "Yes. We were both foolish but… it wasn't beyond mending. Father… _please_, will you not wish me joy?"

He hesitated, then said, "I must always wish you joy, of course. Though I may thrash that boy anyway, when this is all over."

**o-o-o**

Tom was spared a beating, however, except for a comfortable, encouraging pounding on his back as he sat on a barrel, coughing and wheezing from the smoke he'd inhaled in the rescue of the last of the merchantman's crew, a member of the ship's night watch whose deafness had prevented him hearing the first alarms and shouts, sleeping until his own coughing woke him and then losing his way in the dense, acrid atmosphere.

Tom and the Christianas had first rescued the family of the merchant, a young and frantic wife, her four-year-old girl, and her baby boy, an infant in arms. They were taken aboard the _Pearl_ as soon as possible, and, anxious to be of use, Anne took charge of them. She reassured the woman, who had been understandably apprehensive at being rescued by pirates ("So _that_ is the famous Captain Sparrow! Dear me. He _is_ as handsome as they say."), extended sympathy and a tot of Jack's best French brandy in the Great Cabin, and left her to nurse her baby in peace. The little girl was most excited at the disaster, and Anne took her by the hand and led her back out on deck to watch the thrilling spectacle from a safe distance.

There were no fatalities and few injured, but the merchant ship could not be saved, nor could most of its cargo. The vessel finally went up in flames entirely, roiling clouds of black smoke billowing away, and the sounds of crackling and popping explosions did not cease until she sank beneath the waves, to the horrified groans of her owner and captain.

"Sorry we couldn't save her, mate," said Captain Sparrow, sooty himself, and coughing occasionally.

Anne's father told the man, "It is an unfortunate loss, but you have escaped with your lives, which is the most important thing."

"I know, I know," said the merchant. He looked up at them, and particularly at Tom. "What we would've done if you hadn't been at hand I can't imagine. Thank you. Thank you, all. Sarah!"

Anne released the little girl's hand and she ran to her papa to be caught up in his embrace.

"Annie!"

Anne turned at the sound of Tom's hoarse voice and went to him. He had got his coughing under control, and now he lifted his arms. She went to him immediately, her pirate and good man. He drew her down and she sat on his knee and hugged him fiercely, ignoring the soot and blood – he'd cut his ear, somehow, and it was all over the side of his neck. "I love you, Tom Sparrow," she said, happy tears in her voice, and she kissed him.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Eighteen: Anticipation**_


	18. Anticipation

**Chapter Eighteen: **_**Anticipation**_

The Norringtons departed for London by post-chaise the morning after everyone was reunited at Fleet Hall, much to Tom and Anne's distress. With the carriage at the door, they were given a last five minutes alone to bid each other farewell, and though there were few words spoken between them, neither was left in any doubt of the other's love, longing, and grief at this necessary but thankfully temporary parting.

Tom had initially met with some reproach from his mother and Anne's on the _Black Pearl_ and the Christiana's return to Boston, but the merchant and his wife had been so effusive in their praise of Tom's quick action and heroism in saving them and their children and crew from their burning ship that Harry and Maggie were quite overwhelmed. Tom's somewhat battered appearance proved an aid in gaining their sympathy as well, particularly when they discovered it was Anne who had left most of the marks and not Anne's father. Anne said that Tom had behaved very foolishly, but then so had she, and she was resolved to break with Hartfield and marry Tom as soon as it might be arranged – "Just as I've always wished to do!" she'd asserted, smiling at Tom and coloring quite charmingly. There seemed little to be said after that, though the whole thing had to be explained again to Tom's cousins when they arrived home, at which Daisy sang out, "I told you so! I told you so!" and danced William Weatherby about the room.

A few days later, Tom received a letter from Anne, telling him that, though they would be reunited in a few weeks, she had been strangely overcome after their parting and had shed tears all the way into Mavis Enderby. Her mother had been most understanding, but her father had merely looked exasperated and handed her his handkerchief.

_But Tom, when we reached London and told my Aunt Caroline the news, my father came immediately to my assistance when she began to voice her objections as we had anticipated, and for my own part, feared. Father was firm in his support of our marriage and said such wonderful things about you that I had to hug him and thank him right then and there! Aunt Caroline said she wondered that an Admiral of the Royal Navy would consent to give his daughter to a pirate, and from that and some other things she let fall it became clear to us that some rumor of our clandestine adventure had already reached London, though how it could have done so before our arrival I cannot imagine. But Father continued adamant, and later, after Mother had spoken privately with my aunt, all was well. Aunt Caroline has even informed me she will travel into Lincolnshire to attend the wedding, though I'm afraid she means to speak to you regarding the conduct to be expected from a gentleman to his lady and I beg you will be patient with her if she does, for she has been very kind to me these three years and more. I know you can charm her if you put your mind to it, for that is the Sparrow way._

This inspired some mirth in Tom's audience, all seated around the breakfast table, and Jack said, "Ha! Turning you up sweet already. Your Annie'll lead you a merry dance, I reckon."

Daisy rose from her seat, came over, gently kissed the now mostly faded bruise on her brother's cheek, and said, "She's already begun!"

Tom grinned rather ruefully and put his arm about his little sister's waist.

Day said, with obvious delight, "Only three more weeks and I shall be a sister-in-law! How grown up that sounds."

"Indeed," their mother said, with a prim air and laughing eyes. "You will have to mend your ways, my love. Decorum should always be a sister-in-law's byword."

Daisy's face fell ludicrously, until Elizabeth said, "Oh, yes, Aunt. My father has often spoken of your notions of decorum."

Harry smiled, but said, "Now Elizabeth, it's true that your father and I are sometimes at odds, but your mother and I were very good friends. I lived with her and your father, you know, after I came down from school and before I married Wyndham. I don't know what I would have done had she not been there to pour oil on troubled waters, so to speak."

"Aye," said Jack. "That's what your brother says, though he's more blunt about it. Such words as _hoyden_ and _mayhem_ often come into it."

"I daresay," said Harry, dryly.

Will asked, "Does she mention Hartfield at all?"

"She does," said Tom, and read…

_I don't know how it is, but since our adventure, and the understanding that sprang thereof, I find that my confidence has increased, and my tone of mind is such that I feel I can weather any storm life brings. You would hardly credit my calm resolution regarding Hartfield, but I had a note sent to him as soon as we arrived and he called upon me that very evening. I met with him alone, and when he walked into the drawing room he seemed to have some premonition what was toward. I was as kind as I could be, but not hesitant, and he was gracious enough to put me at ease. He said that he had feared this outcome when he heard I would be staying a month at Fleet House, for he'd sensed you and I were more than merely childhood playmates. He was not unaffected by any means, but he said that he hoped we would remain friends, and that he would always be at my service in that capacity. His magnanimity was even greater than I knew at the time, for we subsequently discovered that word had already spread that an Announcement was to be made at the ball. However, father says Hartfield has countered the gossip very effectively with a word or two in the right quarter, and I believe hope will have sprung anew in many a maiden bosom by the evening of the event, for he is considered a great catch, as you know_.

"_Brava_, Anne!" Jack said.

"It could not be better," agreed Harry. "What else does she say?"

Tom had been smiling in a bemused way as he silently scanned the rest, but looked up at that. "Oh, nothing, just some things about how happy she is and the like." He went on reading his letter until he became aware of Daisy looking over his shoulder and quoting from the text - _…my dearest life, when we are at last entitled to the sweet Congress that is the province of a couple united before God and man…_ - at which point he quickly folded up the missive and stuffed it into his pocket, favoring his sister with a glare. "_Decorum_, Day, remember?"

"Aye," said William Weatherby, with some vehemence.

Daisy sniffed at them both, but then gave her young cousin a grin of combined sympathy and mischief, which apparently he found irresistible. A few minutes later the two were seen escaping in the direction of the wilderness - just the sort of thing Tom and Anne would have been doing ten years before.

**o-o-o**

There seemed a great deal to do to prepare for the wedding: invitations to a few select neighbors, flowers for the chapel – the same chapel that had served John Wainfleet and Katherine Sparrow all those years ago – a menu for the breakfast to be held at Fleet Hall afterwards (Anatole and Louise were delighted at the opportunity to showcase their skill and imagination), clothing readied or procured both for the ceremony and for the wedding trip. Jack had given Tom permission to honeymoon on the _Christiana_, with Gibbs as captain and a number of the older, more experienced Pearls as crew.

"I want to take Anne to France, to some of those little towns along the coast and then down to Paris for a few weeks." Tom said.

"France. Well. Be careful. And make sure you are back," his father said, rather severely. "I'll not endure an English winter, even for you."

"Are you sure it's right to leave everything in Cousin Seraphina's charge?"

"Aye, she'll do, with Blake's help, and the servants are a fine lot. I'm satisfied Alfred Blake's a capable steward – not to mention he fancies Sera. Could be they'll marry, too. Who knows, maybe we'll be back next year for another wedding. It's not such a bad place, this time of year."

They were standing on the highest point of Jack's land, a moderate hill which nevertheless afforded a wide view of the green fields and patches of forest, and of the distant house, set among its gardens.

"Not a bad place at all," Tom said dreamily.

Jack chuckled. "D'you see yourself here, settled with a family?"

Tom's brow clouded. "Leave the sea? I don't know that I could. But… I think Anne would like to live here, some of the time, at least. And… well… children." He flushed slightly.

His father noticed, of course. Jack said, "That's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, that sweet Congress Anne expects – and that you've a duty to give her. "

"But Da, I… I'm not… inexperienced. Precisely." He felt his color rising.

But his father's reply shocked him. "That island lass?"

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew."

Tom stared. "Mother didn't—"

"No! Though she likely suspected."

Tom digested this. Then added, "But it was _lasses_, after the first night."

"Was it?" His father lifted a brow. "No wonder you were bloody good for nothing that whole week."

"Aye," Tom agreed, remembering. "They were right insatiable."

"The ladies can be." His father grinned crookedly, his eyes losing focus as fond memories surfaced.

Tom cleared his throat. It was dreadfully awkward, but he asked, "Do you think Anne will be that way?"

The unfocused look vanished. "Maybe. But a great deal depends on you, savvy?"

Tom nodded. "Those lasses on the island, they taught me some things. I learned a lot that week."

"I expect you did," his father said, obviously not as impressed as Tom had hoped. "But they knew what they were doing, knew what they wanted from you. Anne's a maid, and gently bred, if I know anything of James and Maggie. She'll no doubt be eager enough, but it's likely she knows next to nothing and you'll be her teacher. It'll be up to you to show her the joy of it. It takes some patience, but the rewards are great."

Tom said solemnly, "I'll have to hurt her that first time, won't I?"

"Aye. But it doesn't have to be terrible, not if you go about it the right way. If you take your time and make her ready – those island lasses no doubt showed you some useful tricks in that line. Just keep in mind, it's Anne's night, you're there to serve."

Tom swallowed hard, and shifted in his saddle.

Da noticed, and gave a chuff of laughter. "I'll give you some of that scented oil your mother gets from Paris, makes things nice and slippery. Have Anne put it on you, and you can put it on her—"

"Da!"

"Stow it and _listen_."

"Aye, sir."

**o-o-o**

They were climbing the last rise before reaching the house when Tom asked his father in some wonder, "How many virgins have you had, Da?"

Jack shrugged. "A few. But you hear things, from men, but more from women, and the women are the ones to listen to. There are the ones you'd expect to be knowledgeable, those who're in it for the money more than anything else – though I've met more than one courtesan who loved more than was good for her, like the one who took me under her wing when I was a green lad – that was a memorable fortnight and no mistake. But your virtuous lady is different in certain ways. It's a crime how many have it rough that first time, have men who're ignorant fools, out for their own pleasure and little else. It takes some real persuasion to get such a lass to see that there's more to it than pain and animal lust. But there are few things in life that yield such treasure."

His father was smiling reminiscently, and Tom frowned. "Mother wasn't… one of those?"

"Oh, wasn't she?" Jack said, the smile fading away. "I'd slit Fanshawe's gullet if we ever met on the street. Or make him a eunuch at least. But he's dead and gone, and that's long been water under the bridge. You're evidence of that, and Daisy, too."

There was a silence as Tom digested all this, what had been told and what would ever be left unspoken. Finally he said, simply, "Thanks, Da."

"You're welcome. Consider it a wedding gift. I love you and Anne, both, and there's little I can think of that'll serve either of you better than helping you to a good start in that particular aspect of marriage."

"Aye. But it's not only that. Thank you for… _everything_."

Jack stopped and turned to Tom, looking straight at him, opened his mouth, then closed it again, and simply embraced him.

And Tom hugged back, for his father was right again: there weren't any words fine enough for such a moment.

* * *

_**To be continued tomorrow in Chapter Nineteen: Sweetness and Light**_


	19. Sweetness and Light

**Chapter Nineteen: **_**Sweetness and Light**_

A few days before the wedding, the Norringtons journeyed from London to Lincoln by post-chaise. Aunt Caroline deigned to ride in the second carriage with George and Weatherby Swann, and the brothers had been so solicitous of the lady's comfort and kept her so thoroughly entertained that she was in quite a good humor as Anne's family checked into Lincoln's finest inn.

The brothers bid the Norringtons adieu and journeyed on to Fleet Hall, but the very next day Captain Jack, Lady Harry, and Tom came to Lincoln, and Tom and Anne were reunited at last, albeit under the watchful eyes of their mothers and Aunt Caroline. Their fathers went off and met together with Jack's solicitor, Harold Clarence, who had also come up from London, but it wasn't long before a marriage settlement agreeable to all was established, set down in writing by Mr. Clarence's thin, pale clerk, Mr. Timmons, and signed with all due ceremony. A celebratory dinner ensued, followed by a walk in the park, some shopping, and a light supper. Then Anne and Tom parted for the last time before their wedding.

It was surprising how quickly the two intervening days flew by, but almost before she knew it, Anne's mother was waking her in the dark before dawn for the drive to Mavis Enderby. The Sparrows had reserved the whole of the Golden Lion Inn for the Norringtons' convenience, and it was in the well-appointed room where Tom had plied her with dinner and his notorious punch that Anne bathed and donned her wedding finery. Lady Harry's dresser, Amelie, had been sent over to help, and to create a superb coiffure for the occasion, and her exclamations regarding Anne's beauty could not but please.

"Such hair, like spun gold," Amelie said as she worked. "And see how it takes a curl? One has but to touch it with the iron."

"I'm so happy you'll be coming with us on the _Christiana_," Anne said, smiling at Amelie's reflection in the mirror.

"Oh, but yes!" Amelie said. "Louise and I will take excellent care of you and Tom, and we will visit our relations – for the first time in years! Why, I have a cousin in Paris who has six daughters! Six! Would you believe it?"

"No sons?" Anne's brows drew together.

"Not a one," Amelie asserted. "Ah! But I see that you worry that the same may happen to you. _Voyons_, can you imagine such a thing from a Sparrow? No! Sons you will have, mark me." And she smiled and stroked Anne's reddening cheek with the back of one finger. "You look forward to this evening, no?"

Anne laughed a little nervously, glad that her mother had left them for a few minutes. "I do, of course."

Amelie sobered, though her eyes still smiled. "Your mother has told you something of this?"

"Yes. And my aunt."

Amelie nodded wryly. "_Ma petite_, it will be well. Your Tom loves you as he does himself. And after all, he is a Sparrow. Put away doubt, and go fearlessly to meet your joy."

It seemed excellent advice.

The day seemed truly blessed from that point on, and it was with a happy heart that Anne took Tom's hand before the altar two hours later.

_Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here… I, Thomas, take thee, Anne, to my wedded wife… I, Anne, take thee, Thomas, to my wedded husband… With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow… In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost…_

There were tears shed—by the fond mothers, not by Anne. Tom's heart was in his eyes from the moment Anne entered the church, and she almost had to laugh at the worshipful way his gaze sometimes lit upon her during the next few hours, as they drove in state back to Fleet Hall, were greeted as man and wife by the servants for the first time, and enjoyed an al fresco wedding breakfast with their families and neighbors.

But when Anne excused herself briefly at one point, Tom waylaid her as she was headed back outside, pulling her into an alcove.

"And how are you today, Mrs. Sparrow?" he murmured and kissed her – a very different kiss than they'd exchanged in church.

Her arms went about him in the most natural way, and she returned the favor, though there was laughter beneath it.

"What?" he demanded.

"I just love you, that's all," she said. "Can we go soon, do you think?" And suddenly felt herself blushing.

He chuckled, and murmured, "Lord, I hope so," and his lips brushed her warm cheek, her neck… collarbone… the slight swell of each breast. He straightened and said, solemn and wide-eyed, "You'll be gentle with me tonight, won't you?"

And she burst out laughing. "Oh, Tom! What am I going to do with you?"

"Anything you like, love, upon my soul and honor," he said, and kissed her again.

**o-o-o**

The _Christiana_ sailed along like a swan, a steady breeze behind her and the shimmering path of the full moon lighting her way. But it was Joshamee Gibbs who held her steady, his hand at the wheel, quietly directing the picked hands that made up the crew. They were older men, and most of them married, and Tom and Anne had thus been spared some of the more ribald humor that might otherwise have been their lot before retiring on that first night.

That first night…

They'd drawn the stern gallery drapes, but had left a gap and now, in the small hours, as the moon drifted down toward the horizon, golden light flooded in, waking Tom to enchantment. Anne was asleep beside him, facing him, still and beautiful, her pale hair spread over the pillow, her cheek flushed, her perfect lips a deeper, even more delicious pink.

It had gone well, Tom thought, though he would never forget those terrible, wonderful moments when he'd made her his own. Brave lass. He'd tried to use her gently and make a quick end, but his own sweet agony had made him tremble and groan, and though there'd been a glint of tears on her cheeks, there had been something like triumph in her eyes as she'd wrapped herself tight around him, inside and out. His faint protest - _Anne!… Anne, no_— had been countered with a rather fierce, _Yes! Now!_and she'd kissed him deep and moved beneath him, and her _hands_… it was no wonder he had not been able to keep back that harsh cry.

Which he supposed was only fair, considering the gratifyingly intense culmination that had resulted from his careful efforts in preparing her. She'd been eager, yet there had been a touch of shyness, too, and he'd murmured instruction and encouragement as well as love between kisses. Time and patience: a delicious torture for them both, and he could still feel how she had writhed against him in the final minutes, how her fingers had gripped his arm hard, then harder. And finally, she'd opened her eyes—_Tom!_—and then she was coming apart for him, for _him_, turning her face against his shoulder after her first small shriek, imperfectly muffling the rest until it was too much for her and he gently hushed her as he gathered her close.

How had he come to deserve such happiness?

And now, as he watched, she drew in a deep breath and stirred. He reached up and brushed a finger against her cheek, and her eyes opened again and met his.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice so young and uncertain that his heart turned within him.

"Late. Or early. About an hour to dawn. Are you all right?"

"Yes. Are you?" To his delight she ran her hand down his side, under the covers, to his hip, then hesitated just a moment before her fingers drifted down and around, exploring.

"Anne," he whispered.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, blushing but curious.

"No… just… don't stop."

She didn't, but she did say, "Shall we try again? It might be better a second time."

Her smile was teasing, and he found he had to kiss it from her lips, though this caused her to release her more intimate hold in favor of hugging him close with both arms, and moving her hips against his most provocatively. "Oh, you wanton!" he gasped. "You'll be the death of me… though I'll go willing enough, God knows." He slid his hand down and beneath her backside. "Mine," he said, caressing, then pinching that perfect, rounded flesh.

She gave a little gasp of laughter, but her reply, "_Yours!_" was most earnest.

His smile faded slightly in the weight of that moment. "I love you, Anne."

"I know. And you know: I've always been yours."

The truth of that filled him with such joy that he had to kiss her again at length, and wonder at the miracle that had made the blossom of friendship flower with such perfection.

They had been children together. He could not remember a time without her, mischievous, loyal, trusting. And even when they'd been parted he knew now that she'd held his boyish promise close in her heart: _We'll marry, and I'll never look at another female again, long as I live_.

It had to be admitted that he'd looked at a few in these last years away from her, and much more than looked, in a few instances. But even those encounters had been savored with an eye to the future, and in the long months at sea it was Anne that he'd thought of, the sweet girl he'd left behind, now grown and ready to take her place beside him. Lord, when he'd seen her that first time, in the Norringtons' foyer, before that fateful night at Vauxhall… well, he wondered that his Sparrow _sangfroid_ had not entirely deserted him. She was more beautiful even than he'd dreamed.

He ended their kiss and moved to the side, watching her as he let his hand roam, holding her gaze, delighting in her changing expressions: the bitten lip, the sharp intake of breath. Her blue eyes widened. "Tom…._oh!_"

He could barely breathe.

_Treasure_.

Heart pounding, he bent his head and whispered against her ear, "Shall I show you some things, sweetheart? Do you trust me?"

She shivered, but he saw that her lips curved as she whispered, "Yes. Oh, _yes_," and she gave herself up to him.

* * *

_**To be concluded tomorrow in Chapter Twenty: Bring Me That Horizon**_


	20. Bring Me That Horizon

The final chapter. Many thanks to sharklady and florencia for all the reviews, and to all who've read and enjoyed the story.

* * *

**Chapter Twenty: **_**Bring Me That Horizon**_

One rainy morning in mid-September, Jack came down the stairs of his brother-in-law's Mount Street town home, grumbling and stopping to scan the parlor for his beloved, who'd abandoned him to a cold bed an hour earlier. In the last few days, Harry had formed the habit of taking her morning chocolate in the ornate room at the front of the house, the better to watch the street for any sign of Tom and Anne. They'd all been expecting the pair any time this last fortnight, and Jack could not persuade his wife that the watch he'd set by the Thames would prove adequate in warning them of the newlyweds' arrival.

"Depend upon it," she'd said, "they will wish to surprise us. They were always a pair of rascals as children, and now that Anne is a married lady and out from under her aunt's thumb she will no doubt revert to her old ways. Tom will follow her lead, and is quite capable of arranging matters to please both her and himself."

Jack had smiled, for the lovely and very elegant young lady that had stood by his son at the altar that day seemed a far cry from the impish chit of years past. But he'd retorted, "Tom had better _arrange matters_ pretty quick or he'll find himself shivering by that drafty hearth at Fleet Hall this winter. _We_ sail by the first of October or my name isn't Captain Jack Sparrow."

Harry hadn't argued the point, for the Norringtons were to sail with them and time was of the essence. In the last month, Anne's father had been shocked to find that he had been appointed Governor of Jamaica (though why he'd been so surprised was beyond comprehension, considering the man had been as a son to Weatherby for time out of mind, and James knew perfectly well how far reaching was the Swann family's influence); and Maggie had been over the moon at receiving a letter from Julietta, informing them of an impending addition to the family. Julietta had begged that her own dear mother would come home to assist at the lying in, and as this was Julietta's first, there was no question of a denial. The _Black Pearl_ would sail by the end of September, newlyweds aboard or no, and that suited Jack just fine, thank you very much.

Even so, as he walked down the hall and heard several familiar and much loved voices happily conversing in the morning room, he couldn't help the grin that wiped away his scowl any more than he could help the wave of happiness that swept through him, body and soul.

"There you are!" he cried as he walked in, and ignoring Tom's _Da!_for the moment, he went straight to Anne and embraced her, kissing her cheek.

"They're here!" Daisy shouted, bouncing up. "Just like Mama said!"

Anne laughed.

Jack looked over his daughter-in-law. "Tom's taken good care of you, I see," he said, and chuckled as she blushed charmingly.

Tom slipped his arm about his wife's trim waist. "Of course I have, and she's returned the favor."

"Just as it should be," Jack nodded, with a glance at Harry, whose eyes were smiling at him as she took a sip of her chocolate. Her brothers sat at the table, too, George lounging and sardonic, Weatherby looking benign. Elizabeth and Will were smiling reminiscently, remembering their own newlywed days, no doubt, and young William Weatherby was looking a bit wistful, as well he might: he was off to his school for the first time in a few days, and no Daisy to look forward to at the holidays, either.

Tom said, "We haven't even seen her parents yet, but we wanted to stop here first and surprise you. But Daisy's told us the news. Is Anne's father really to be governor?"

"Of course he is," said Weatherby. "The child wouldn't lie about a thing like that, even if she has learned from her mother to be less than truthful about certain injurious incidents for which she might incur blame."

Daisy whirled, dismayed, and Harry choked slightly on her chocolate.

Weatherby raised a brow. "Did you think I hadn't noticed?"

Jack chuckled. "I suppose you know the whole of Tom's affair with Anne as well."

"Of course. Most disreputable—"

"Oh, come," said George. "All's well that ends well, eh?"

Weatherby frowned. "I was about to say that."

"Very well, indeed," said Anne. "But now I think we must—what is that?"

For there was a loud rapping on the distant front door, and it was followed by the sound of the door opening and a naval roar: "_Anne!_"

Tom laughed and went out into the passage. "She's here in the morning room, sir!" he shouted back, and in a trice both James and Maggie were coming quickly down the hall, then fairly burst into the room to greet their daughter, and then their "rogue of a son-in-law".

"I had a note sent around," Weatherby said with modest pride.

"Well done, Brother!" said George, slapping him on the shoulder (at which Weatherby winced). "Now we can all breakfast together!"

By the time breakfast was ready, almost an hour later (for Anatole and Louise's loving reunion took some time in and of itself), Aunt Caroline was able to join them, too, in spite of the exigencies of her toilette and the inconvenience of ordering up the carriage in such inclement weather. She was a little put out at Maggie and James, who had jumped into a hastily summoned hackney carriage for the short journey to Mount Street, but Weatherby and George were able to smooth her ruffled feathers, Anne greeted her with real fondness, and presently the entire company was sitting down to _le petit déjeuner à l'anglaise_, which meal, as conceived by Anatole, was hardly what one could call _petit_ at all.

**o-o-o**

Late in the afternoon, William Weatherby sat sighing in the parlor, watching the rain dripping down the windowpanes. Now that Tom and Anne were returned, there was nothing but talk of the Sparrows' and Norringtons' departure from England on the _Black Pearl_. That was sad enough to think about, but Mother and Father were to leave as well, at least for a few months: Father wished to study the techniques used in forging weaponry in Spain and Italy, and Mother had always wished to travel on the continent. She had been to Italy before, but not for many years. Not since William Weatherby was born.

He sighed, and put his chin in his hand, and tried not to feel as though he wanted to curl up in a corner and blub.

The sound of the door quietly opening brought his head around, but when he saw Daisy he almost wished she hadn't come. She had a look of sympathy on her face, and it was very hard to bear.

To cover his grief, he said brusquely, "What do you want? I thought—" But then he wisely shut his mouth and turned away, rather than go on.

Daisy came and sat beside him on the window seat. "It'll be all right," she said.

William Weatherby scowled. "What will?"

"School. And our going away. Oh, don't look like that! You'll see. You'll be so busy the time will fly, and all the other boys will envy you your relations, and it'll be just like Fleet Hall, after our sword fight. They all admired you, every boy for miles! And the girls, too."

He laughed shortly, remembering. "Well. They did, didn't they?"

"Of course. And with good reason." She smiled, a crooked smile, like her father's. "I'll miss you."

He tried to smile, too, as he took her hand. But it wasn't working, and his voice was rough when he said, "I'll miss you more."

She shook her head. "No, you'll have too much to think about. And anyway, Father says we'll be back next summer."

His heart leapt. "Really?"

"Really. We've had a letter from Cousin Sera. She and Mr. Locke are to be married. Mother says we must return for the wedding, and to watch over Fleet Hall while they're gone on their honeymoon. So you won't have time to miss me, we'll be together as soon as you come down from school in June."

William Weatherby could hardly believe it. "Day, you wouldn't jest about that?"

She reared back and narrowed her eyes. "Never!"

He had to laugh, and then he was hugging her, they were hugging each other, and she was snuffling. "Day… Day, don't, it'll be all right."

She disengaged herself, took the handkerchief he'd fished from his pocket, wiped her cheeks and blew her nose. "I know it will," she finally replied, sounding rather annoyed. "Isn't that what I was just telling _you?_"

**o-o-o**

There were a remarkable number of sunny days across the Atlantic that October, as though every element conspired to bless the newlyweds and their entourage as they sailed southwest, toward the Caribbean.

"How good it is to be going _home_ again!" Anne said one morning to Tom. They'd risen before dawn (having gone early to their cabin the evening before, as was their wont), and neither set of parents had yet made an appearance, though Gibbs was smiling on them from the quarterdeck.

"It's like a dream come true," Tom agreed. "Do you know how long it's been since we've seen St. Claire?"

Anne's smile faded somewhat, remembering her last visits, when Tom's difficulties had nearly broken her heart. She leaned against him, beloved husband as well as friend, and closed her eyes a moment.

Tom put his arm about her, warm and solid, and bent his head, murmuring, "I know what you're thinking. I was such a bloody fool, Anne. But I'll make it up to you. I can't change the past, but our future will be as happy as I can contrive. We'll stay a while, make St. Claire our home. But it won't be many years before I'll have my own ship, maybe the_Pearl_, or another if Da won't let her go. I'll take you out, around the world, just as I promised."

Anne sighed, content. "What about our children?"

"They'll come with us, of course," said Tom, as though it was a foolish question, then suddenly eyed her askance. "Annie… you're not…?"

She looked up at him, and said, "No. Not yet." And grinned at his sigh of relief.

"Whew. Come then, Mrs. Sparrow. Let's lay aloft and watch the sun rise. I presume you stole that shirt and breeches you're wearing for just that purpose."

"I did. Race you to the foretop?"

He laughed. "What would your aunt say to that, eh? No racing, now, just go careful as you can and I'll follow."

"To admire the view, I daresay."

"Precisely," he grinned, his hand slipping down to pat her breeched backside.

"I meant the sunrise," she said primly, but turned to embrace him.

"Oh, _that_," Tom chuckled and glanced out over the water to where the sky was swiftly lightening. "Bring me that horizon, eh?"

"Amen!" said Anne, and kissed him.

_**~ The End ~**_


End file.
